Finding Home
by Miki Mouse in Blue Jeans
Summary: Edward's Rebellion - There's uncertainty following them with every move they make, a foreboding shadow always at their heels. There's darkness somewhere in their house, and skeletons tapping at their closet doors. Then suddenly, Carlisle and Esme Cullen find themselves in an empty house without a son. This is the story of how they three find themselves Finding Home. (1927-1931)
1. The First Clap of Thunder

_Authors note: As with all of my_ _stories, Finding Home will begin with third person in chapter one to set the scene, but will be written in first person for the remainder of the story. Thank you, enjoy._

* * *

 _Finding Home_

 _Chapter One: The First Clap of Thunder_

 _Ashland Wisconsin, Late 1926_

It was two weeks before Christmas in nineteen twenty-six, the downpour was coating the streets in thick mist. Her footsteps sloshed, and splashed, and swished, as she made her way back from the hospital wing. It hadn't been raining when she'd left her home, so she thought it would be safe to wander alone, to town where her husband worked tirelessly, fixing and mending the people in need. He'd been delighted to see her - he'd wrapped her tight in a hug, placed a kiss on her forehead and whispered his love.

Then after some time she'd set off on her way, back to the house they shared on Northern Lakes Lane. But as she wandered down the streets that she knew, down a dark alley a different storm did brew. There were other feet sloshing and splashing about, making her frightened and then he did shout, then with a whimper and scared little feet, she turned right around and began to flee. As tragic and morbid as this story is, there are some times in life not filled with happiness – like when the poor doctor that night returned home, and his house was all empty – his wife was gone.

It was a man in an alley with frightful eyes, which caused so much turmoil to ruin and change lives. But how would he know from just one frightful act, he destroyed _two_ homes and changed someone's path? For there is a boy who lived far far away, whom in the near future would hear of this day, and into a spiral this young boy would leap, down to the bottom of a fall that was steep. This young man who was keeping his demons at bay, would give up and succumb to his darkest day, and this is the story of his choice to be alone, it starts with the first day he began to lose home.

* * *

 _Cambridge, Massachusetts, Early 1927._

"I still don't understand it, Esme," he said from his spot beside her underneath the big tree where they sheltered from the sun that sporadically burst through the thin cloud cover, "You love buildings, you love design, you love construction, and yet you're studying Art, not Architecture."

She sighed, looking up from her thick book with rich colour illustrations filling the pages, to lay her golden eyes upon the bronze haired boy she truly thought of as a son. Her voice was soft, but it held an exasperated edge to it, "I also love painting, and drawing, and finding meaning in other people's work, and so I decided I want to study Art."

He rolled his eyes and looked away, across the glimmering green field on the bright late winter day. She knew he didn't understand, nor appreciate her desires, but her husband had often told her that she should do as she please. So, if she wanted to attend Massachusetts Institute of Technology to study Art, then she would.

The boy beside her scoffed, as though he could tell exactly what was on her mind, and unbeknownst to the strangers that walked passed them from class to class, he did. You see, he was not an ordinary person, then yet again, nor was she. For that matter, nor was the peculiar blond doctor that worked at Harvard University's primary training hospital, and taught the advanced human pathophysiology lecture every Tuesday at two o'clock in the afternoon. Nobody in their right minds actually accepted that any of these three beings were 'normal' but not questioning such things was much, much easier than querying this, so they let the strange family duck their heads and jump from the shade of one tree to the next, never wondering why.

Esme ran slim her fingers over the soft pages of the book her husband had given her, "We're lucky, you know," she murmured, "To be able to do what we want."

The boy laughed a cold, dark laugh, and gave her a dubious look. She didn't understand his mood at all, and he needn't read her mind to realize this. Her eyes were wide, but her brow was furrowed, and he didn't know if he could be bothered explaining how he felt to her. With a sigh he looked away again, casting his eyes on a cloudy patch of sky.

"I think that's a bit rich, Esme." He grumbled in reply.

"And why is that, Edward?" She asked with wide eyes.

"Look at what we are, that should tell you enough." He gestured around with his hand swooping wide, "We don't live in a world where we're at the liberty to live freely as you might think we do."

With another annoyed sigh, he pressed away from the grass and straightened up. He looked down at her expectantly, so she closed her book, and packed it away in her bag. She too stood up, and brushed away the grass from the back of her dress as the cloudy patch in the sky floated in front of the sun, then he was off. He marched toward the edge of the grass in the direction of their next shared class. He'd made a deal with her to spend one year of classes by her side, just to make sure that she'd be all right, but that said year would end in June, come September she'd be choosing her own classes to go to.

She had to jog in her heels, to catch up with his long stride, and walk by his side. "Is this about the medicine thing again?" She raised her head to look at him, and wondered with her signature wide eyes, but he offered up no reply.

"Edward," she sighed, "You know Carlisle only has your best interests at heart, dear."

"Does he really?" Edward's eyebrows rose, as he asked with sarcasm drenching his tone, and a sardonic smile spread across his face, "And how do you know that? Can you read his mind?"

Esme sighed again, loathing to repeat the same discussion over and over not getting anywhere different, "Don't go painting him in a villain's silhouette Edward. You and I both know that the reason Carlisle is not encouraging you to pursue medicine yet – _yet_ being the operative word in that sentence – is because you're not even a decade old. You know it took him a long, long time to be able to do what he does. You are an extraordinary person, Edward, and you have admirable self-control, but Carlisle is wary of this only because the safety of our family is at stake. You saw what he was like that day in Italy. I've never seen him so panicked. Losing us is his worst nightmare."

"And he thinks I am capable of doing that?" Edward laughed coolly, opening the corridor door for her to enter.

Esme sighed, and nodded in thanks as she ducked inside and out of the sunlight, "Anyone of us is capable of doing that Edward, and it mightn't be quite so controllable when you're in a small surgical room." She recounted the memories of the two times she had lost control and killed humans to feed. _I was never in control,_ she thought.

He sighed and challenged her faith in the man she loved, "And you're completely sure that only our best interests are in his heart?"

"Who do you see your father to be, Edward?" His mother asked in complete confusion, thinking they both must see her husband in a completely different light.

He shook his head, and murmured sarcastically, "No, I see him with the same halo you do, I only think… well, in your case, perhaps lack of encouragement is just the same as discouragement."

 _This again_ , she thought, "If I were to ask Carlisle if he thought I should study Architecture instead of Art, I've no doubt in his reply being of the affirmative kind, yet I have not asked him, nor will I ask him, because I am doing what _I_ want to do, and being the kind, caring and supportive husband that he his, he stands with me one hundred percent."

"You say that when you can't even read his mind," he muttered too low, and too quick for anything but inhuman ears to hear.

 _Reading minds is not everything, Edward._ She paused in her tracks, "He supports you in all you do too Edward, and he is proud of you," _but you're nine years old, you don't have that kind of control yet. We both know it will come soon, because you are the best and the brightest I have seen, but dear, soon is not now. Patience is a very becoming attribute._

Edward sighed once more and pinched the bridge of his nose, "We have to get to class. We're all ready late."

He quickened his pace again and she scurried to keep up with him, her thoughts filled with worry for her son. When they reached the tall wooden door to their shared mathematics class, Edward let out a long breath and turned to face her.

"Thank you," he murmured in a soft voice with sincerity in his eyes, "I know you mean well, and I know Carlisle does too, but this frustration has to come out somewhere. So I apologise. I do love you, mother."

She reached up to touch his cheek gently, "As I love you, my tender-hearted son."

He gave her a small smile, and then stepped back, before opening the door to the class.

Every head in the room turned up to see who was at the door, and eyes glared at the two vampires standing there; they were late… again.

"That is what, the seventeenth time this semester?" A middle-aged professor in a tweed suit with a red moustache grumbled from the front of the class, where he'd stopped mid sentence, chalk in one hand, open book in the other, "And it's only just begun! Please at least attempt to rid yourselves of your tardiness, Mr. Masen, Mrs. Cullen. Take a seat."

They murmured their apologies with bowed heads, and found their usual spot at the back of the class, hoping that they could blend in with the plaster, but their extraordinary beauty was not to be missed, so these were merely just things that they wished.

She opened her book, he narrowed his eyes, she gave him a look, but he was lost in his mind, and the boy at the front, stared up at them two, thinking things that he shouldn't do.

A growl nearly threatened to erupt from his chest, but letting it go would not really be best. He was too carnal, too much of a monster, to study and to heal just like his father. For a moment he didn't even think to care, because the man in the front row was worse than the vampire in the back. Surely someone had to know that…

And somewhere in the back of his mind, in a dusty old closet, with a thousand spider webs adorning the handles, a gentle tapping began.

It sounded a lot like bone on wood, like things he shouldn't and things he should, it sounded greatly like history calling, like skeletons knocking and a woman falling. It was just like all the things one does not want, but he listened closely to the 'knock, knock, knock.'

The anger came but unlike before, it just would not go – and so _that_ was the day he began losing home.

* * *

 _A.N. Welcome to Finding Home! To everyone coming from Faith & Love - thank you! And to those who haven't read Faith & Love, that's okay, this story will be canon-compatible so reading the first in the series isn't super important. That being said, I'd love it if you checked it out! :) _

_Faith & Love has been nominated for the top 10 twilight fan fics of December 2015! So if you loved Faith & Love pop over to www . twifanfictionrecs . com to vote! Votes close 31st Jan, and you can vote once every 24 hours!_

 _Quite a morbid start, I know - but this won't begin as the happiest story, we will however manage to get there! So, I hoped you enjoyed and I will be back soon... well, within a week, or two maybe._

 _Much love_

 _Miki xxx_


	2. Ripples of Unease

_Chapter Two: Ripples of Unease_

 _Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1927_

 _Esme_

The small classroom was filled with the sounds of scratching pens and pencils on paper, calm breathing, hearts beating, and the occasional rustling of papers being shuffled, turned over, and scrunched up with a sigh. Edward and I sat at the back of the class, heads down like all the rest, but unlike them we merely pretended to do our work. With a flawless memory, mathematics was not a difficult subject to master.

"That's it!" The professor called from the front of the room, causing sighs and groans to quietly come from the students, "Time is up. I want pens done right now, yes, I'm looking at you Mr Matthews – pen down!" Our professor – a redheaded middle aged man, with a bushy moustache, intelligent eyes and a particular penchant for tweed – was glaring at a rather panicked looking student, writing furiously on his paper in the front. I could see red ears peeking out from behind sandy hair as he furiously scribbled away, ignoring the teacher. I air was saturated enough with the scent of human blood that the young man's blushing ears affected me none. The professor glared at him long enough for the young man to sigh in defeat, and place his writing utensil upon his desk.

"Thank you," our exasperated professor said before turning his eyes back to the rest of the class, "I ask you to leave your papers on my desk on the way out, and pick up this weeks problem set on the desk by the door," his brown eyes drifted to Edward and I, "Mr. Masen, Mrs Cullen, if you would stay behind, I'd like a word. Thank you, and good day to you all."

The classroom was filled with muted chatter as everyone began to pack up their things, and send their chairs screeching along on the floor, a horrid noise a thousand times worse to the delicate vampire ears I possessed.

I looked to Edward, who was leaning back in his seat, faking a stretch after what should have been a long and arduous task, _What does he want?_ I wondered in my head.

Edward shrugged, and with a yawn, he leaned forward picking up his stray pens and placing them in his pocket, "He's confused at how we miss so much of his class, and still do so well. He wants to know where we've been."

"And you have a good answer?" I wondered, following suit and packing up my own things as the small classroom drained of students, spiralling out of the doorway wearing expressions conveying their eagerness for the day to be over.

Edward shrugged in a very nonchalant way, "I'll think of something," he murmured, slipping his notebook into his bag, and standing up quietly, thankfully avoiding making the horrible noise with his chair on the floor.

I quickly placed my pens in the case that Carlisle had found me in China, before sliding my book into the handmade bag that Edward and I had uncovered at a market in India.

Then, I too, stood from my seat soundlessly, and as the final student left the room, Edward and I slowly made our way from the back, passed all the seats and all of the desks, to the front of the class where our professor stood waiting, tapping his toe on the floor. Edward held his hand out for my paper, which I handed to him gratefully, before he placed them on the desk beside the redheaded man and his bushy moustache.

"Mr Masen, Mrs Cullen," Professor Turner spoke in his usual manner as he pursed his lips, and continued tapping his foot on the wooden floor, "How many times has it truly been this semester that you have both been late to my class?"

Although I expected it to be, his question was not rhetorical. Edward, of course, knew this, and answered with the appropriate amount of regret colouring his tone.

"I'm not sure, sir," Edward murmured quietly, "We are sorry, sir."

The middle-aged man shook his head, closing his eyes, let out a deep breath; releasing some kind of frustration we must have caused him.

He opened his eyes, and fixed a reproving expression on his face with eyebrows high, and a small frown, "I hope it is not just my class you are late to, or I may take this personally." He shook his head, and oddly, a little smile turned the corner of his lips upward, "I must admit, when this trend first began happening I worried for your grades, but I've marked the early semester exam and I was most surprised to see that you both scored full marks, not to mention all of your problem sets have been all correct also. It only stands to reason that, although you are consistently late to all of my classes, you must be putting in the required work on your own time. This only brings me to say that tardiness is never looked very well upon in the workforce." He shook his head again, and stepped back to shuffle some papers on his desk, he looked up after a moment and met us with curious eyes, "Pray tell, what fields are you both hoping to go into?"

"We're both undecided, sir," Edward replied before I could hope to formulate words.

Professor Turner's thick red brow furrowed, "My papers tell me that you're studying Art Mrs. Cullen, I come to wonder what a woman with such an aptitude for the mathematics is doing in a fine arts classroom, when her calling so undoubtedly falls in a more scientific area."

I opened my mouth to reply, ready to tell him of my love for the fine arts, and infer my capabilities in that field also, but Edward was quicker to seize the opportunity and steer the conversation in the exact opposite direction from that which I was hoping to turn it toward.

"That, sir," Edward interjected with enthusiasm, "Is exactly why we were late today."

The thick red eyebrows rose in surprise, as mine furrowed in frustration.

 _Edward, what are you doing?_ I mentally chided, _Is this really necessary?_ All though the bronze haired boy smiled slightly, his eyes remained fixed upon the professor's face.

"Was it just?" The professor murmured with interest saturating his tone. He straightened his posture and turned to face us completely.

"Yes," Edward nodded, ignoring my mental berating, "My sister and I were caught up in a slight disagreement, so much so, I fear time just slipped away. You see, it is my opinion that my dearest sister is perhaps choosing one of her passions over the other when she should be making the decision the other way."

The professor's eyes flicked between the two of us with curiosity as I tried to figure out if Edward was merely using our disagreement as a reason for our tardiness, or if he was actually trying to involve the poor professor in business that wasn't his.

"After all though, it is your decision, is it not, Mrs Cullen?" The professor inquired slowly, I nodded eagerly and smiled at him, perhaps a little too brightly – he had to blink once or twice in response, and his heartbeat rose to an alarming rate.

"It is," I agreed.

For a split second, his brow furrowed and his lips pursed once more, as I caught a smile spreading across Edward's face, "But may I ask, what it is that you, Mr Masen, believe your sister should be choosing as a career?"

"Architecture," Edward replied quickly and definitely. I closed my eyes and clenched my jaw, finally finding the answer I was looking for – Edward was definitely involving the teacher in a place he needn't be.

"Ah," He nodded in understanding, "This does make sense." He turned back to me with a small smile, "Although my opinion isn't much worth anything, Mrs Cullen," his demeanour grew to be animated with excitement, I wondered exactly where this was going, and what tiny piece of information Edward had found in this particular teacher's head to know to bring it up, "And you must do as you so choose," he continued, waving a hand about in the air haphazardly, "I'll tell you, from your work in my class, I would side with your brother on this one. A physical discipline would see you achieving your greatest potential, Mrs Cullen. Here," he murmured scurrying away behind his desk, and bent down to see a stack of books he had piled up underneath it, "I once fancied myself somewhat of an engineer." He glanced back up me with humour lighting his eyes, he chuckled to himself and turned back to the books with a slight shrug, "Structural engineering, and architecture aren't _all_ that different, so I have some books," he pulled out a thick dusty volume from somewhere beneath his desk, and brushed away the dust atop of it, before standing up with a muted groan at his undoubtedly protesting muscles, "You can borrow this to look at, I know I shouldn't be trying to influence you one way or another, but many of my students who aspire to become mathematicians, can not quite grasp the art of it the way that you do." He walked back over to us, and handed the thick book to me, "It would be unfortunate to see your technical talents to be used solely for the purpose of emotional expressionism, when you could pour that emotion into a structure, and still use that technical mathematical gift you possess to make a structure sound and buildable. It's a win, win," he grinned.

I took in a deep breath and plastered a pleasant smile on my face, although I was feeling remarkably miffed at Edward's interference, "Thank you, sir," I murmured, reaching out to accept the book he offered, and aptly adjusting my posture to make it seem as though the thick book – which must have weighed a great deal – didn't at all feel as light as a feather to my immortal self.

"It's not too late to change your mind, I take the basic building design in second year." He continued, "Perhaps I shall look forward to teaching you again, Mrs Cullen, although tardiness is not accepted." He turned to Edward, "And Mr Masen?"

Edward grinned, "Perhaps I'll become a structural engineer."

The two men shared a grin, before Professor Turner scolded us once more for our lateness, and then let us go to our next classes, with a happy "Shoo, now!"

I carefully put the book into my bag as we slipped out of the classroom and into the nearly deserted corridor. When we were alone, and the door to the classroom was securely shut, I turned to face Edward, nothing but frustration boiling through my venom veins.

"Did you really have to bring that up?" I asked with annoyance saturating my voice, "I have enough people telling me what I should and shouldn't do, I don't need to add yours and his names to that list, thank you, Edward."

He shrugged, unfazed by my temper, and slung his bag over his shoulder, "Anything I can do to help, I shall."

I let out a cold laugh, "Helping is perhaps the exact opposite of the term I would use." In my frustration, I turned on my heel and quickly walked away from my son outside the big wooden door, noting somewhere in the depths of my mind that I was acting like more of a little sister than a mother to him.

"Then have fun with Mr. Martins." Edward called out after me, teasing in his tone, "I'll see you after class."

I nearly let out a groan as I walked away from my bronze haired boy and his chipper face, thinking about the only class I didn't share with him this semester and how much I dreaded it. The dread was not due to the lack of his company, for I'd taken an Art History the semester before by myself, and didn't mind it a single bit – in fact I found I enjoyed the feeling of accomplishment. This semester, however, I found myself taking a technical drawing class, focussing on the accurate transcriptions of living, three-dimensional objects, onto two-dimensional paper. As a vampire with an impeccably sharp eye for detail, an unbelievably steady hand, and all the time in the world to perfect my drawings at home thanks in part to my flawless memory, I thought the class would be a simple, and easy venture. Until, of course, I met my teacher. Mr. Martins was an agreeable man, I thought at first, perhaps a little too eager to get to know me. On one occasion in my second week, he asked me if I would be able to stay behind after class to discuss the work I'd handed in. In reply I wondered if perhaps we could arrange a different meeting, for my husband was coming to pick me up for an important engagement we couldn't be late for, in all honesty we could have been late because it was just hunting, but I didn't really want to hold Carlisle up. Upon hearing of my marital status (I'd always been wearing gloves whenever I conversed with him, so how was he to know of my ring?) his demeanour morphed from warm and friendly to distant and frosty in a split second, and from that day on my grades had been on a steady plummet south, while my techniques and abilities slowly climbed north. There was no trend to make sense of, but Edward, who swung by the class once or twice, revealed that my teacher was nursing a sore spot for he'd fancied me, and he'd never fancied himself anything short of the sort who always won. For me, his classes were miserable. That didn't mean, though, in any way, shape, or form, that I wasn't enjoying my degree. Where on Earth did Edward get that idea? … Well, _me_ , really.

Of course it was completely my fault, when we'd wandered around the Musée du Louvre in Paris, I spent more of my time admiring the architecture of the Louvre Palace than I did the art works on the walls. I knew though, most of all, the issue with Edward was, at its heart, purely a matter of transference.

We'd chosen Massachusetts, and Cambridge in particular, for Harvard University. It was the one university that Edward chose above all of the rest, the second in line had been Cornell, and Edward was happy to compromise on that, for it would allow me to study also, but we didn't want Edward to have to compromise, just this once, and for that reason we settled in a small area just north of Cambridge. When time came for Edward to enrol in Harvard, he had somewhat of a crisis of conscience – his heart was made of pure gold, although his manner of expressing that fact what somewhat questionable on a number of occasions – and informed Carlisle and I that he simply _could not_ attend Harvard. For the life of us, we couldn't fathom why, but soon, after Edward brought home two sets of enrolment papers for the Massachusetts Institute of Technology that it became quite apparent.

Harvard, like many of its Ivy counterparts, with a few exceptions, _did_ not, and _would_ not accept female students. MIT on the other hand, was more than willing to admit persons of my gender even in very masculine fields like Architecture, so much so, in fact, that twenty years before, MIT was the first tertiary institution in the United States to award a woman a Masters in Architecture.

Edward believed that it was too unfair for him to be enjoying himself studying away, while I could not, so he decided that he would spend a year with me at MIT, until I was settled, then he would choose what he wanted to do. With slight hesitance, I accepted, and enrolled into MIT's art program. At first, Edward was very enthusiastic about this, and he encouraged me to be as artistic as I possibly could be. Until one night, when I was working on the floors in the entranceway of our newest house (It was fondly referred to as the House of Nightmares – Carlisle had purchased it thinking I'd absolutely adore it, which I did, but it didn't need renovation, it needed demolition, it was _that_ bad) Edward had joined Carlisle in the formal sitting room he was using as his study. They'd begun discussing their science things, when Edward mentioned his plans to transfer into Medicine once the assimilating year had ended. I'm not entirely sure how Edward expected the discussion to unfold – in fact, I'm not even sure how I expected it to – but it's safe to say that it didn't quite go as Edward had planned. He left perhaps twenty minutes later, bounding into the nearby forest without a world, and Carlisle wandered from his study looking unhappy and worn. Carlisle did not support Edward with his endeavours to study medicine at such a young age; he believed it was too risky, and too dangerous. Edward argued, but respected Carlisle's decision none-the-less, from then on though, he was unhappy on a good day, and downright miserable on the rest. He rarely talked to Carlisle, although the latter attempted to spark discussion time and time again, but he talked to me with more civility, and even with something that could be akin to some kind of tender familial love. The only trouble I had with Edward, aside from his hostility toward Carlisle, was his sudden issue with my chosen area of study. The worst part of his constant efforts to force me into a different field was that my once solid resolve was fractured with cracks of doubt and crumbling from beneath my feet – he was beginning to convince me and coerce me into changing my mind.

So I walked down that empty corridor toward Martin's class in a tiff, internally grumbling over the transference that was causing this to happen. But the little voice in the back of my head that always had been the voice of reason, continued to point out how I was acting like a child when it was _me_ that was supposed to be the adult in the situation, and not just any adult, Edward's mother. The pain he must be feeling, the isolation, the rejection and disappointment from being told by his mentor that he wasn't ready for what he wanted to do would have been painful enough, he didn't need to feel as though he'd upset me too, and in all honestly, I should have been strong enough to take it. I was fully aware of how my impenetrable skin was not as thick as I would have liked it to be, but that wasn't his issue, it was _mine_.

With a deep breath, I whirled back around, not missing a beat, before falling into a run. I held my bag securely at my side as my feet echoed loudly off the floor and the sound bounced off the walls making it so much louder than I thought it would. I rounded the corner, only barely avoiding slipping into a skid, and jogged down the hallway I'd left Edward in. His class was in the other direction, but I knew he'd stop walking when he heard me coming, so logic dictated that he couldn't be too far.

I was surprised that my loud footsteps didn't seem disturb people more than they seemed to as I made my way to Edward. There were no heads poking out of classroom doors to see who was causing the noise, nor any glaring eyes, or murmurs in angry tones.

Thankfully Edward had stopped when he heard me coming, so he wasn't too far away. He was leaning up against the corridor wall with a smirky little smile on his face as he whistled quietly to himself. He favoured sarcasm and a mockingly chipper demeanour when we were out of the house – inside the house he was just a vacant entity of silence and absence. He sighed quietly as I approached, but seemed to shake away my thoughts.

"Edward," I murmured as I came to an abrupt stop in front of him, "I'm sorry." My eyes naturally fell to my toes for a brief moment, in a habit that was nearly as old as I was.

When I looked back up to him, I was surprised to see that he was grinning. With another one of his famous shrugs he said, "You can't bear to let any animosity float between you and another person, can you?" He shook his head, and his expression softened for the first time in a long time, allowing me a brief glance into the truth of his feelings. There was a deep sadness floating about in his dark golden eyes, and a yearning feeling tugged at my stomach, while the little voice at the back of my head told me to fix whatever was hurting him "It's okay." He continued, then the brief crack in his stone wall mask was gone, and the all-too-chipper smile was back, "Although you're a particularly tolerant person, it's possible to push anyone too far, and perhaps I have been going a little too hard on this architecture stuff, it's just…" Suddenly the crack came back – a different crack; a fiery crack – and his voice became passionate, as he pushed himself off the wall, coming closer to me. I took a step back in surprise as his brightly passionate eyes bore into mine, "Don't go to MIT to study art from some pill like Martins who can't even draw a straight line with a ruler. Go somewhere like the Rhode Island School of Design where your artistic expressionism will be valued, not put down because your teacher doesn't like that you're married. Somewhere your paintings can be hung up in galleries under fake names, where you can party with pretty dresses and fake drinking champagne and people will pay ridiculous amounts of money to have a piece of your mind, a piece of your heart hanging on their walls. All I mean Esme, is that your talent is being wasted here; surely you can see that. Come to MIT to study architecture, with professors like Turner who could do complex mathematical calculations with his eyes closed and his hands tied behind his back." His shoulders dropped as he finally stopped his passionate speech, and the fiery fissure slowly fixed itself again.

I smiled, reaching up to touch his cheek, with a lot of love and quite the amount of pain coursing through my veins with the venom that kept me going.

"You have the sweetest heart, you know that." I murmured, "Your intentions are pure, and I can see that, I never truly doubted it," I paused for a moment, and then Edward interrupted.

"But?" He assumed with an amused expression causing a genuine crooked smile to cross his lips. He raised his eyebrows in challenge.

I let out a laugh, nodding, I affirmed his suspicions, "Yes, the dreaded 'but.' But I want to learn the art of art."

He narrowed his eyes and shook his head, "No, I don't understand…" His brow furrowed as his eyes narrowed even more, and his lips became a hard, thin line, "You're hiding something from me, and I don't know what… hmm." He took a deep breath, and his expression became neutral once more, before filling up with gentle hope. "Let me just say one thing?"

I nodded, knowing he'd say it without my agreement, anyway. I truly did want to hear it, though.

"Nothing is holding you back aside from yourself Esme," he reached out for my free hand to squeeze, "And ultimately it's your decision."

I could feel my smile turn loving as I patted his cheek, "I know. Thank you."

He reached up and covered my other hand with his, before squeezing and letting them both drop, "Class time." He murmured, moving to leave, "You don't want to make Martins mad."

"Wait, Edward," I murmured, reaching out for his lagging had as he left, his eyebrows rose in question as I moved closer to him, "Martins doesn't matter right now. You're hurting, and I want to know how I can fix it."

He stared at me for a moment, before his face melted into a tender smile, and he stepped closer to me, allowing me to wrap him in a hug in that deserted corridor, "There's nothing you can do, mom. Everything will be all right, and I promise I'll try to be nicer to Carlisle, I know it upsets you to see us disagreeing."

I ran my hands through his messy hair, as he rested his head in my shoulder, "Well, all right, but the moment you think of something that I can do, you'll tell me, yes?"

I pulled away so I could look into his eyes as he nodded with a sad smile. I wrapped him in a tight hug once more, before we finally pulled away and bid each other farewell, heading to our next classes.

I walked the entire way with my head in clouds of worry, not fully realising that Martins would make a grand exhibition of my lateness. I absently opened the faraway door to his horrid class, and slowly made my way in, greeted by all twenty-two pairs of curious eyes until my own distant mind laid eyes on the angry-yet-over-the-moon dark brown pair that belonged to the black haired teacher who stood at the front of the class arms folded with annoyance.

"Thank you for gracing us with your presence," his voice was cold, "Take your seat." I disliked Martins not only for his treatment of me, but also because he reminded me somewhat of Charles. The thought nearly sent a shiver down my spine as I took my seat near the open window at the side of the class. Martins continued his lecture about the structure of musical instruments and the importance of proper measurements, while I stared out the window vacantly.

Martins wandered around the room talking, and had I not been a vampire, I would have not retained a single word, but my immortal mind was capable of focussing on his boring monotone while also taking in the bright greens and blues of the unusually bright late January day.

"And it is important also, when drawing a subject, to be familiar with the anatomical terms used to describe that object. Who can tell me the structure of the violin we drew last week in proper terms?" Mr. Martins wondered as he came to a halt in front of my desk, "How about our latecomer who seems to think the scenery is more interesting than me? Did you hear my question?"

I gave him a small insincere smile, before nodding, "On the body there's the chinrest, the tailpiece, the fine tuner, the f-holes and the bridge, then there's the fingerboard, the neck, the nut, the pegs, the scroll and the strings. Then independently you have the bow made up of the bow hair, the stick with a tightening pin at the heel of the stick."

His dark eyes narrowed as his thin lips disappeared as he pursed them. He turned around and walked away without another word to me, "That brings us to handing out your marks from the violin drawing you submitted." He wandered up to his desk and grabbed a pile of paper, before waltzing up and dishing them out according to the table number we were required to write in the top left corner. Martins never bothered to learn ours names, which was perhaps another reason why he was so slow learning that I was a Mrs.

He dropped my paper on my table a little more aggressively than the rest, and I murmured a 'thank you,' merely out of habit. I had no high hopes for the result of the assessment, but I didn't really think he'd resort to giving me a C. I sighed and pushed the paper toward the edge of the desk.

The blonde woman next to me – Mary – looked over at my grade, and her hazel eyes nearly popped out of her head, "What on Earth?" She wondered, "Yours is a thousand times better than mine, but you got a C, and I got an A? How does that work? I was certain you'd top the class," she raised her eyes from my paper to my face, "What did you do to the teacher to make him dislike you that much?" She wondered. My expression must have been answer enough, for only moments later, before I could reply, she straightened up and let out a laugh, and with a raised eyebrow she wondered, "Or what _didn't_ you do?"

I gave her a smile and turned back to watch out the window, wasting away perfectly good time in another one of Martins' terrible classes, thinking about how Edward might have been right. I could always study art somewhere else…

The only reason I didn't want to leave class early, was because I didn't want to draw even more attention to myself, but after the first hour was more insufferable than ever before, I excused myself under the pretence that I wasn't at all feeling well, hence my earlier lateness. When one of the ladies in the front row remarked on how unwell I really did look, Martins' glare softened somewhat, and he shooed me out of the class.

With an hour to spare before Edward finished his class, I decided to go back outside and sit on the grass, after all, it had been teasing me from my classroom, and the clouds had thickened above.

Although the corridors were still mostly deserted, the outdoor area was bustling with life as students milled around on the grass chatting, and studying, while others sat by themselves with their noses stuck in books, or sipping drinks and munching on lunch. I scanned the area for a nice spot to sit and wait, but my eyes caught sight of a surprise when I was skimming over the area in front of the car park. In the space where Edward's dark green car had been earlier, sat a sleek black Chrysler Imperial, and up against it lay the most familiar and most beautiful sight in the world to me.

He was grinning from ear to ear as my eyes met his bright golden orbs filled with pure joy and adoration. My earlier plans of sitting outside in the shade from the clouds had flown away in the gentle wind as I began to walk forward towards him as if I was stuck in some kind of trance. I was compelled to run toward him, filled with a great longing and desire to be in his company instantaneously, and had it not been for the great number of students as witnesses, I probably would have sprinted to him, making use of all the immortal speed I possessed. As a result of holding this great urge back, my stride was not as smooth as it could have been, and although the humans wouldn't be able to see it, I knew he was quietly chuckling to himself watching me and my jumpy little step trying not to run to him.

In the short amount of time it took for me to cross the grass into the car park, I kept my eyes fixed on him with his sunshine-blonde hair and deep golden eyes, his perfectly sculpted facial bones and his lips that nobody but me knew how soft they were. He was dressed dashingly in his dark three-piece work suit, which emphasized his paleness, but I liked that. His smile, however, was the best part of it all, because I knew that his smile was because of me, and for me. He was the kind of handsome that never even meant to come off that way, and that made him even more beautiful to me. He pushed off the car when I approached, grinning widely at me, and he walked forward to greet me.

"You know," I murmured instead of a greeting, making his smile turned amused, "I always did wonder, wherever did you pick up that habit of yours to lean up against things? It doesn't seem very seventeenth century to me."

He laughed, and leaned in to kiss my cheek, "It's not. I picked it up only recently, actually, after I first met you in Ohio. It makes me look more human," he whispered grinning, "And hello, Mrs Cullen."

"Hello Doctor Cullen," I grinned back, looking around to see if we had any observers staring our way before quickly reaching up on my tiptoes and placing a kiss upon his looks too quick for anyone to see. He laughed as I wondered, "How was your day today?"

He opened the car door for me, and helped me in before dashing around to the other side of the car and hopping inside, "It was good, as usual, how about yours? You're out early, Edward said you weren't enjoying your drawing class."

"When did you see Edward?" I wondered as he turned the car on, and carefully navigated it out of the parking area.

"He came by the hospital this afternoon, just as my shift was ending. That's why I'm here actually. He said he needed to hunt, so I took up the opportunity to pick you up from class," he grinned happily over at me, and I couldn't help returning the smile.

"How very considerate of you," I laughed, "Did he seem happy to you?" I wondered.

Carlisle glanced at me without turning his head, but I could tell that he shared my sense of worry, "Well, he's talking to me, so that's a start, but I'm not sure. Ironically, things seem to be worse _after_ he's hunted, so I guess we'll see when he comes home."

I sighed, and focussed my attention to the world out the windshield. Growing up on a farm just outside from Columbus meant that I saw the city occasionally, however, had I not spent time living in London, and Paris, staying in Beijing and Tokyo or visiting New York, I would have thought that Cambridge was busy, but as it was, having done all of those things, to me, Cambridge was quiet. It was the perfect compromise for us, really, enough of the city for Edward, and quiet enough for me. Carlisle was easy to please.

We had come to a stop at a quiet junction, and Carlisle checked for oncoming traffic, before he continued to drive forward. There were a few people waltzing down the sidewalks, going in and coming out of buildings, some held shopping bags while others just meandered happily empty handed.

"Did you change many lives today?" I wondered quietly, turning back to look at Carlisle with a smile.

He chuckled and gave a modest shrug, "I had a long surgery, and we didn't think he'd make it, but well, his heart is still beating, so that's good. Other than that there were just few coughing people."

We settled into easy conversation as the car gilded through town. Our house was not far out of Cambridge, perhaps only twenty minutes, but it never seemed that long driving with Carlisle. Minutes passed like seconds, laughing and talking to him, so much so, that I barely noticed the passing landscape out the windows, but soon enough we were turning off the road onto our driveway. The long narrow dirt road weaved in and out of tall trees, seeming as though it would never end, but stretch out into some kind of infinity. On my more philosophical days when I sat at the window with a paint brush in hand, I liked to imagine that the driveway held a special metaphorical meaning, symbolising our journey into eternity, but the bumpy dirt driveway did, however, come to an end. It opened up after a seemingly long way, and brought the car directly to the stone outhouse we were using as a garage, which was arguably in better shape than the house itself.

When Carlisle parked the car in the garage, had dashed around to open my door and help me out. I thanked him with a grateful smile, which quickly morphed into one of pure happiness when he refused to let go of my hand he held. Slowly, we left the garage, and the towering three-level dark house that we called home came into view between the tree trunks. Every time I looked at that house, with it's weatherboards painted some shade of dark brown, most likely to blend in with the bark on the trunks of the trees in the forest, I was filled with the manic urge to laugh hysterically, for the house was truly falling to pieces. In the nearly five months that we'd lived in Massachusetts, I'd managed to get four of the fifteen rooms fit for use. When we arrived, there was only one that didn't have broken floorboards, water damaged walls, or a mould problem. The one room, which was liveable, was not a part of the original house. I had come to find that in a great deal of architectural styles, symmetry was favoured, but I'd also come to find that whomever attempted to renovate the house before we lived in it, was not aware of this. There were two extensions tacked on to different sides of this house, which I critically appraised as we made our way through the trees toward the House of Nightmares. The first was attached to the front left corner of the house, and contained the kitchen and dining room underneath one poorly installed roof that looked as thought it was about to cave in at any moment. It was made of the same weatherboard as the rest of the house, and had an odd little private porch to the side, which was in such bad condition it was too dangerous for a human to step onto. The other exterior was on the back right corner, and although it was in near perfect condition, it was not at all in keeping with the original style of the house, in fact, with its floor to ceiling windows and natural timber, it almost looked as though Frank Lloyd Wright himself had come along and added a room on personally. We were using that room as Edward's piano room. I thought that with the big windows on its three exterior walls, showing the most brilliant view of the forest, he would find inspiration there – but he hadn't touched his piano at all since we arrived.

I suppressed a sigh, before distracting myself with the thought of continuing my renovations to my third floor painting room. I'd finished Carlisle's study, the living room, the master bedroom, Edward's bedroom and one bathroom all ready, but my list of things to do was a mile long.

"Are you all right, love?" Carlisle wondered, as we reached the broken stairs.

I smiled at the concern in his eyes, and nodded "I was just thinking about Edward."

Carlisle nodded, climbing carefully up the steps with my hand still grasped in his, "We'll sort something out, love. We'll have to."

I agreed as he unlocked the door and welcomed me in to the dark little entranceway with the dark broken staircase that I really had to fix. I had a million plans for the awkward shaped room filled with darkness, but I had a million other plans to execute before I even got around to replacing the missing stair on the fourteenth step, let alone designing the room. I was still in the midst of fixing the hardwood floors, and ridding the walls of the garish pink wallpaper.

Carlisle led me through the entranceway to the right, where the formal living room was. It was one of the bigger rooms, and one of the first I'd fixed. I'd mended and polished the floors, torn down the wallpaper and painted it with a lovely neutral off-white, before filling it with his bookshelves, paintings, desks, and even a lovely couch and armchair in the middle of the long room.

Carlisle made his way to the desk near the front windows, and discarded his medical bag in its usual place, while I wandered to one of the front windows and gazed outside. Through the gaps in between the thick trunks of the trees that lay scattered all over our front yard, I could see a fraction of the wide river that flowed beside the house. The waters were always high, and travelled fast but they seemed to be flowing faster than usual.

"The River looks stormy." I murmured quietly as Carlisle shuffled through papers at his desks.

"Mmm," he replied quietly, "There looked to be a few stormy clouds out there. Perhaps winter will return soon."

I sighed, "Yes, perhaps." Carlisle knew that winter was not at all my favourite season, all though it was perhaps, the most convenient season for us. In an ironic twist, I found I'd always much preferred the sun. Our world travels had also come to show me that my favourite place to be was by a golden sandy beach – but there was not a great deal we could do about that. It was best not to linger on things I couldn't have.

"I picked up the mail in town today," Carlisle murmured, catching my attention just as he knew he would. I grinned and wandered over to him as he pulled out a wad of letters from his medical bag.

"Anything for me?" I wondered, coming to a halt beside his desk.

Carlisle flicked through the mail pile hopefully, but with a slight frown on his face, he shook his head, "How long has it been?" He wondered looking back up to me with slight worry in his dark golden eyes.

I gave a little shrug, trying to be nonchalant as my gut flipped with anxiety; I felt my lip quiver irrationally.

Carlisle reached out a hand, "Hey, I'm sure it's all right – Elsie's letters have probably just had a hard time getting here. You know how many places they have to go first before they come here so no one can find us."

I nodded, and looked away, so Carlisle wrapped his arms tightly around me. Feeling his familiar torso pressed against mine grounding me to Earth, smelling his familiar cinnamon-pear-and-fresh-air scent, and having his calming fingers run through my hair, never failed to provide the comfort I so desperately needed. Automatically, my arms wrapped around his waist.

I exhaled into his chest, "It's been a few months; her last letter arrived in November."

"I'm sure I could find Gregson's telephone number somehow, you could telephone her?" He suggested, placing intermittent kisses in my hair.

I thought about it for a moment, perhaps I was over exaggerating? None-the-less, it had been a much longer time for her letter to reach me than usual, and she was perhaps, the singular most punctual person I knew, so I nodded into him, "Let's leave it a few more weeks, and then if nothing arrives, I'll call."

I could feel him grin into my hair; "It'll be a nice surprise for her."

His words received their intended effect, calming me and ridding my stomach of the twisting worry.

We spent a little time on the couch in his study, quietly murmuring more about our days, and discussing nothing in particular.

"Martins gave me a C on my violin drawing," I murmured quietly at one point, as Carlisle absently toyed with my stocking–clad toes.

His eyes opened wide in surprise, "He gave you a C? I saw that drawing, Esme, it was amazing."

I shrugged, my eyes fell downward to the deep brown wood of the floor, as I anxiously ran my hand along the soft fabric of the light couch, "You know he doesn't like me much."

Carlisle reached over to stroke my cheek, lifting my head to look at him, "That's no excuse for his behaviour. He's acting unprofessionally. Would you like me to go to the dean and ask for another marker to grade your work?"

I shrugged again, and considered it; "It may make him even more hostile."

"That's not something you should have to worry about, Esme," Carlisle murmured, but I didn't want to have that conversation with him just then. I was tired emotionally; it had been a big day.

So I smiled, and leaned closer to him, losing my hands in his golden hair, "Thank you for being so good to me," I murmured quietly before pressing my lips to his.

We shared sweet embraces for a short while, before we parted ways – him to his desk to read journals and complete paperwork, and me to my art room.

I carefully made my way up the creaky, broken stairs to the large second floor landing with more hardwood floors that needed love and wallpaper that needed destroying, but I didn't stop climbing, instead I took the adjacent staircase up to the third floor. The third floor landing was much smaller. The house had no attic, for the entire third floor had vaulted ceilings, which was my favourite aspect of the house. The third floor was home to mine and Carlisle's bedroom, my art room, and a spare room, which was too large to use for a bathroom so it was destined to be left empty for a while.

It was to the art room, which over looked the trees that hid driveway, that I was headed. The door did not creak when I opened it, for I'd oiled it appropriately. My art room was unlike any other room in the house, the floors were wood, the walls were wooden panelled and the ceiling had the wooden beams exposed – it looked like a true attic. My easel was sitting by the low window on the opposite wall, which allowed me to see out the glass while sitting on the floor. I'd come to like using easels while paining, but only sitting down, I felt too odd painting on an easel while standing up, I felt like I was da Vinci or something.

I set up my canvas and paints, donning the apron that hung off one of the many boxes that filled the room with things we owned but weren't ready to unpack just yet. Smiling at the English ivy that sat atop it all, I dipped the tip of my middle-sized brush into the white to continue the painting that I'd left to dry earlier.

The house was quiet for an immeasurable amount of time, rain began to pour down and thunder rumbled as lightening pierced through the sky, I heard Carlisle move downstairs to light a fire, but I stayed where I was putting the finer details on my treasured painting. Edward's car soon chugged its way down the driveway that I could just see through the trees from my spot by the window. He parked in the garage and slammed the door shut, before sprinting over to the front door. He shut that door quietly behind him, I listened to his footsteps walk inside, and the rustling of his coat as he took it off, then without a 'Hello' the footsteps that came through the door disappeared into the dark depths of his room, not to resurface until who knew when. Somewhere in the house, and the same time as I, Carlisle let out a tiny sigh. I wondered if Edward would keep his promise to at least _try_ with Carlisle, but that irritating wise voice in the back of my mind didn't have any high hopes at all.

I dipped my paint into a darker flesh shade I'd created earlier, before going over the lines of the muscles in my husbands back, thinking how they looked oddly like the fracture lines I was beginning to see running right through our little family.

* * *

 _A.N. Hello all! Thank you all for your reviews! They're greatly appreciated. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, with Edward causing trouble in every little way he can. Finding Home shan't be as long as Faith & Love by a wide margin. I have twenty-seven chapters planned for this story, and don't worry, all though the entire series is focussing on Carlisle & Esme, when Edward leaves we will still follow! There's a lot of time to cover in this story 1927-1931, but I'm looking forward to seeing where it goes!_

 _Next chapter the trouble will really begin._

 _Much love x_


	3. Cursed Thoughts

_Chapter Three: Cursed Thoughts_

 _Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1927_

 _Carlisle_

Edward stayed in the dark depths of his room for the entirety of that night, he made very little noise, and had it not been from the quiet breathing, and the constant honey-lilac-and-sun scent in the house, I may have thought he was gone. Esme and I spent a great deal of the night in our own room, just quietly talking, and holding each other beneath the sheets. With Edward in the house, we didn't like to be too affectionate with one another, and besides, it wasn't always needed. But the shrill phone pierced the still morning at quarter-to-three, and the voice on the other line requested my presence earlier than usual at the hospital. Esme just smiled and shooed me away to another day at the hospital.

It turned out there'd not been any emergency, and as the clock chimed six I recapped the mostly ordinary, and unremarkable morning at Cambridge Hospital, filled with nothing but paper signing, form filling, pleasant speaking, heels clicking, pretend coffee drinking, and not a great deal of patient healing. I'd mended a few broken limbs and things of such, but for the three hours I'd been present, nothing remarkable happened. I'd not come to any conclusions why I'd been called in early, so I gave up trying to discern why the shrilling phone had interrupted a lovely morning spent with my wife in the sea of white, crinkled sheets.

I was standing at the nurse's station, flicking through some discharge papers I had to sort out for an elderly man who'd had a fall, when a gentle tap on my shoulder interrupted me. I turned around slowly with a pleasant smile plastered on my face, to be greeted by an elderly nurse I knew to be the head of staff's assistant.

"Excuse me, Doctor Cullen?" She wondered in her timid voice, "Doctor Richardson would like a word with you in his office."

"Of course Mary," I nodded, quickly adding my signature to the bottom of the form, and giving them to the appropriate nurse, "I'll make my way there now."

The staff changeover caused the narrow corridors to bustle with workers arriving and others going home, while I attempted to sail down them without bumping into too many warm blooded bodies. It was not an easy mission, but I managed to avoid collisions as I made my way across the large hospital to the staff offices.

Cambridge Hospital was a large medical facility, filled with doctors and students. I wondered, as I turned the last corner to Doctor Richardson's office if perhaps the reason I was being called in for a meeting was to ask if I would happily take on medical students. I couldn't be sure what the meeting was for, but it would be logical, as the university also employed me as a teacher. But I did, after all, have other hopes…

After three prompt taps on a large oak door, I was welcomed inside to learn my fate. Doctor Richardson's office was one of those clichéd places with walls filled with accolades, which I'd only been in once before. On that occasion he'd informed me that his wife made frequent visits to the hospital for the sole purpose of ensuring his achievements still adorned the walls. It was slightly ironic, and rather funny that he, of all people, should have an office like that, for he was one of the most modest men I'd ever met. In his late sixties, with fluffy white hair and circular spectacles, Doctor Richardson galloped around his desk and sat down in his usual jittery manner. He stood no taller than five foot six, and had a habit of pushing his spectacles back up his nose even when they hadn't slid down the bridge yet, which he proceeded to do before straightening the papers atop his desk and fixing me with an ecstatic smile.

"Doctor Cullen!" He announced grandly, "Oh, Doctor Cullen, we are so pleased to have you here, have I mentioned that before? I know when you first arrived we weren't able to offer you the appropriate position in the surgical department, but I have good news!" I grinned at his excitement as well as his news, "There's been an opening! Assuming that you still want to work as you were trained to, the position is yours, young chap! The hours are a little more complicated than you have now – we work on a 'two 'day shifts' then one 'night shift' rotation', so every week your days would be different, but you do get one day/night off a week. You'd also be on call twenty-four seven, does it still entice you, young chap?"

I eagerly agreed, and he jumped up with excitement gesturing for me to follow him out the door and down to meet the team I'd be working with.

"You'll start today, if you don't mind. You'll be on the same rotation as our Head of Trauma, he'll be the surgeon on the team, we always start our newcomers off as Emergency Physicians to see how you go before we open positions up for the Trauma Surgeons, but you'll be second in command on the team," Doctor Richardson chatted happily away as we made our way through the familiar warren of corridors and stairwells, to a staff room near the ER.

He continued to babble as he opened the door by leaning on it with his side; his hands were occupied by his animated conversation that I was barely paying attention to. Inside the room sat a group of five people – three men dressed in the familiar suits and white coats, and two women in nurses' uniforms – whom all looked up as we entered.

"Ah, perfect!" Richardson exclaimed, "Everyone is here. Doctor Murphy, will you come and meet your new recruit?"

The man furthest from the door, on the other side of the room, standing beside what looked to be a coffee maker, smiled kindly as he was addressed.

"You must be Doctor Cullen!" The man with perfectly combed black hair and small grey eyes, murmured as he approached. When he came to a stop in front of us he held out his hand, "Great to meet you Cullen, welcome to the team."

"Thank you," I smiled shaking his hand, dreading the usual surprise at the cold fingers, but his hands weren't much warmer than mine, so it never came.

"Chilly today, isn't it?" He remarked once our hands had dropped.

"Indeed, it is," I nodded, rubbing my cold hands together for effect.

"Well, I'll leave you lot to it," Richardson said in his chirpy manner, "I expect great things from you all!"

There were a few quiet chuckles from the people in the room, who sat in pairs a way apart, as Richardson left the staff room. As soon as the Head of Staff had vacated the room, the accommodating smile on Murphy's face dropped to an unfriendly scowl. He looked me over once, with pursed lips, narrow eyes and evident distaste, before turning his back on me and announcing to the room, "You can all introduce yourselves."

All though the sudden shift in mood of the Head of Trauma Surgery made me feel like I was most unwelcome on the team, the eager introductions of the rest of the members had quite the opposite effect.

The other four occupants of the room all quickly rose and made their way toward me. The first person to me, and eldest member of the team extended his hand out to shake, "Doug Pewter, anaesthetist." His thin lips spread into a smile as I shook his hand. His grey eyes, hidden beneath bushy eyebrows, had an ash tinge to them, just like his well-groomed ash-brown hair.

I grinned back and told him I was happy to meet him too, before turning to the next member of the team.

The man had a large, square chin, with a long nose, and over-sized ears. Round spectacles magnified his friendly hazel eyes, as he grinned at me with an outstretched hand, "Mark Diggins, oxygen technician"

A solid old women with slight corkscrew curls came bumbling up to me next, "Mary Sutherland, Head Trauma Nurse," she introduced herself in a deep, serious voice, but her smile was sweet as her heart beat revealed her internal swooning.

"It's very nice to meet you," I smiled, gently squeezing her hand.

"And this is Louise Jane, assisting nurse," Mary gestured to the tiny, young nurse behind her, looking up at me with wide, stunned brown eyes. I smiled and nodded her way, about to greet her also, but Murphy interrupted.

"All right, pull yourselves together. We have work to do," his voice rung with authority, all though by the looks on my colleagues faces I wasn't sure if the authority was borne out of respect, or fear.

The tiny nurse Louise jumped at Murphy's loud voice, causing her white hat to fall to the floor. When she bent to pick it up, her brown hair came out of its clips and began to tumble down her face.

Mary sighed, as she quickly jumped over to help Louise pin her hair back up. She looked around cautiously, the older woman looked relieved when she saw Murphy facing the other way, but her expression turned apologetic when she spied me watching.

"Awfully sorry, she's absolutely useless when it comes to the finer art of grooming, but she's the best nurse you'll ever come across, doctor."

I smiled warmly at the two, and shook my head, "Never mind me. Years ago, my wife was much the same, her hair was always tumbling out – mind you, she liked to climb trees."

There was a beat of silence before the two women burst into giggles, and finished fixing Louise's hair while the men conversed about the weekend's activities.

"How long have you been married, doctor? If you don't mind me asking," Mary's voice was curious.

"Quite a while," I smiled; it was best not to go into specifics.

Mary nodded, but I could see that Louise was still curious, so, to dissuade both their attention, and their interest, I added, "We met when she was sixteen."

That ought to let them make their own minds up, besides, I'd learned a long time ago that people tended to warm up quicker when I shared something personal, usually I lied, but not this time.

The doors to the left slammed open before they could make their reply, and an emergency worker with a flushed face and hands covered with blood came bursting in, "We have a patient whose been involved in a motor car accident, severe blood loss and back injuries." My throat burned a little in response to the smell and the thought, but it was easily dismissible.

The room was filled with nodding heads as we all sprung to action. We quickly made our way from the staff room down to the theatre, where we prepped before entering.

I was donning my apron and gloves when a nervous looking, skinny boy stumbled into the room.

"Doctor… Doctor Murphy!" The boy stuttered.

"What?" Murphy spat as he struggled sliding his fingers into his gloves.

The boy who had bright red hair and a face filled with freckles, stood there wringing his hands with anxiety as I tied my face mask up at the back of my head, "Trevor's left the morgue!"

"What are you on about?" Murphy yelled as he continued to struggle donning his gloves over his trembling hands.

"Trevor has left the morgue!" The boy exclaimed, "It's unattended, the casualties from the crash are all piling up, and we've run out of tables, so they have to be put on the floor. We need to do autopsies on the other bodies to clear up spaces, but Trevor is gone. No one is doing autopsies, sir! Sir! _Sir_! _There are bodies all over the floor_!"

"Quit panicking!" Murphy yelled as he began to grow irritated at both the boy and his gloves, his small grey eyes soon fell on me, "New guy, you go."

It took me a fraction of a second to realize that he was actually saying. The happiness drained from my face as the rest of the team disappeared through the doors and into the operating theatre.

"Well, go!" Murphy exclaimed to me as he finally slotted his fingers into the gloves, and fitting his apron over his head, "And go quickly!"

I nodded numbly, just as he turned his back and followed our colleagues into the theatre while tying his mask up at the back, "Yes, sir."

The door swung as he dashed through it, leaving the prep room empty aside from the trembling boy and I. Disappointment tugged at my heart as I stared at the swinging door, only to be interrupted by the redhead.

"Um, sir?" He asked with fright.

I snapped out of my disappointed haze, and turned back around to face the boy, "Yes?"

I hadn't noticed before just how young he was, perhaps even younger than Edward. He stood a few feet away shaking in his boots. "The morgue?"

"Of course," I nodded, quickly untying my mask, and tugging it off, "Will you show me the way?" I discarded all of my PPE, knowing I'd have to get fresh garments from the morgue just as the boy took a big deep breath and nodded, "Sure, I will."

He led me down the warren of corridors, and stairs until we reached the cold, and equally chilling morgue. There were no windows in the autopsy suites or corridors, so the only light was supplied by flicking electrics swinging from the ceiling.

"The medical examiner," I murmured as we headed to the first room, "Why did he leave?"

"Too many bodies," the boy replied nervously, "And he's squeamish at the best of times."

Wow, a squeamish coroner, and I thought I'd seen everything.

"I didn't catch your name," I pointed out, hinting for him to introduce himself.

"Oh, I'm Jeffery."

"Well, Jeffery, it's nice to meet you. I'm Doctor Cullen," I held my hand out for him to shake, but he eyed it dubiously before his worried eyes flicked back up to my face.

He wrung his hands together and shook his head, "No," he whined, "I don't like handshakes."

I withdrew my offer with a smile, "That's okay," I murmured, "I don't either, really."

He led me into the large square room where bodies filled the silver tables, and were laid haphazardly over the floor, "Was it a large crash?" I wondered, surveying the damage.

"Yes, sir," the boy nodded, "There were two separate motor car accidents. This one involved a public bus and a large tractor. No survivors on the bus. There was another on the other side of town. Two streetcars in a head-on collision. I think you have one of the drivers in the surgery upstairs."

I nodded my understanding, as I scanned the room for empty tables. I spotted a storage area in the back right-hand corner, and carefully navigated my way to it. It was dark, with no lights, but it was jammed pack with tables to place the bodies on.

"Jeffrey!" I called out, "Will you please come and help pulling these tables out?"

I heard his feet scurry over toward the back room, and he appeared in the doorway, still looking quite flushed. Of all the blood in the room – the spilled liquid on the floor, the stationary liquid in the veins – his, hidden behind just a few thin layers of skin was by far the most appetising, but still the desire to drink did not come.

"You could leave them on the ground, sir. It'd save time," Jeffrey pointed out as I began to wheel the metal tables into the large room.

"Would you like to think one day when you die, you body will just be left on the floor like it meant nothing at all?" I wondered, systematically ordering them so there would be enough room for everyone.

"'Spose not." He murmured, catching on to my pattern quickly enough.

"Respect for the dead is one of the most important things."

"Why?" His tone was incredulous, "They don't even know what you're doing."

"Perhaps that's the exact reason why," I shrugged, disappearing back into the smaller room for another table.

Soon we'd filled the room with enough places for the victims of the crash to lie, and after we'd donned our protective gear we placed the bodies where they need to be, and Jeffery led me to one of the older bodies that needed to be autopsied.

"Do you like Doctor Murphy?" Jeffery wondered timidly as I prepped the station.

I shrugged sifting through the utensils laid out before me, "He seems agreeable, but I've only just met him."

"Oh," Jeffery breathed, playing with a pen on the clipboard he held, "He calls me an imbecile. I looked it up in the dictionary. It's not very nice."

I flicked him a glance, his eyes were downcast, and his lips were set in a slight frown, I felt sorry for the poor boy, he seemed to have a gentle heart. "You're right," I murmured, "It's not. He shouldn't call you that. Can you please pass me the scalpel, Jeffery?" I pointed to the utensil that lay on the table near him. He grabbed it quickly, and as he handed it to me, he gave me the most curious look.

"Trevor doesn't call me Jeffery," he stated simply as I nodded in thanks, and clicked a new, clean tip to the handle.

"What does he call you?" I wondered, pulling the sheet back to expose the chest of the old man who lay between us.

" _Boy_."

I took a deep breath and smiled up at him, "Well, your mother gave you a name for a reason Jeffery, and so I will use it. You don't mind, do you?"

He shook his head, "No. I don't mind."

"Then, Jeffery, will you take notes on what I'm saying as I perform the autopsy?"

Jeffery grinned, "That's what I'm here for."

I gave him a curt nod, and then turned back to my work. As I made my first incision in the chest, a familiar world of bright red organs and sour scented liquid presented itself to me. The body had been dead for a while now, I could tell that as soon as I walked in the room, the cold blood was not appetising in any way, in fact it was slightly off-putting. There was an innate reaction to such a smell that I could never quite shake, however – disappointment. One less perfectly good meal for a willing vampire. Sometimes it seemed as though my mind and body worked on two very different frequencies.

As I navigated my way through the all-familiar maze with my scalpel, I thought about Edward's hopes to join me in my medical endeavours. I had expected it, of course, in fact, I'd even go so far to say that I'd encouraged it at points, but I never dreamed he'd feel so ready, so young. I knew my own struggles to resist the blood even after I was nearly a century old, at under a decade; I'd no idea how he'd fare. I'd scolded myself time and time again for not seeing it coming, after all, he'd always tried to convince me that Esme was ready to test her control well before she really was. The amount of risks we took with her as a newborn was now astounding to me in hindsight. We were lucky she didn't slaughter then entire state!

"The visceral pleura is in tact, no signs of trauma." I murmured before I sliced through the thin membrane, and navigated my way into the lungs.

I understood why Edward wanted to enter into the medical profession, all though for me, at first it was not just the idea that I could be helping people that enticed me, for I had found a deep passion in the sciences, Edward had always been drawn by the glory of things. The war for example, as a human his dream was to be a soldier, to fight for his country with honour.

"No trauma to the lungs," I noted as I continued on to the heart.

Esme always commented on Edward's bright heart, needing to help, while I always lingered on the misguided nature of it. All though they were their own people, and they were not my responsibility, I couldn't help but feel the slightest bit responsible for the lives they lived – if not for me, they'd not be there to make decisions.

But a question nagged at the back of my mind, where would Edward's choices lead?

"Acute myocardial infarction," I murmured upon closer inspection of the heart, before moving on to examine the remaining visceral organs in case of any trauma.

I liked to think that Edward would remain bothered by my insistence that he not study medicine yet, and let that be a drive for him to determine to succeed, to prove to me that his control was good enough to manage the blood, and resist the temptation that the liquid offered, but the more intelligent – logic based, not love based – side of my brain warned me of an opposite effect. I fear our travels around the world, which brought us in to contact with numerous covens and nomads who live in a more 'traditional way' could have impacted on Edward in the opposite way that which they'd once impacted me. It rattled me that both Esme and Edward could understand the way they lived so, of course, I too could understand, but I did not empathise with them quite the way that Esme and Edward seemed to. Although Esme chatted happily afterward about how much more rewarding our life was, Edward's silence on the topic did not go unnoticed by me. In fact, it perturbed me more than I'd like to admit. I tried not to linger on the topic – I tried not to worry – so he wouldn't hear my internal fretting, but I was still learning how to halt my emotions for his well being. It was not an easy practice. With every coven we met, I saw Edward's curiosity grow; through his gift, he was offered more information than any of us as to the reasoning of those whom we met. I could do nothing but hope that my own reasoning impacted him with more strength than theirs could ever behold. Doubt, however, liked to creep in and linger around my mind.

There was no more damage to any of the internal organs, so I finished up the autopsy automatically, chatting to Jeffery without thinking hard about what to say, and moved on to the next body. There was swelling at many of the joints that interested me, so before my y-incision, I gently cut open the knee where a thin turbid yellow liquid overflowed.

"Jaundice," I murmured, "The increased amount of liquid in the joints is congruent with the slight yellow hue to the skin."

The scratching of Jeffery's pen on the paper as he took down my notes was the loudest sound in the room as I moved back up to the chest to begin the examination.

The faces of the vampires whom we met on our travels swirled around in my mind with the curious light to Edward's eye, as the one haunting question came back again – Where would Edward's choices lead? The longer I pondered it, the further I saw him walk away.

Nothing but those haunting worried thoughts filled my head as I found the cause of death for nearly ten bodies in that morgue before the ME came marching back in and announced he was ready to resume his work.

All though I didn't expect it, the 'Thank you' that he didn't give would have been nice.

I thanked Jeffery as I left, but I didn't offer him a handshake – I hoped he'd like that.

I wandered back up stairs feeling glum and wondering if my colleagues were finished with their surgery. I didn't even know what time it was. Deciding to go back to the staff room I first met them in; I quickened my pace in hopes to forgo missing out on another procedure.

The staffroom was nearly empty when I entered; the familiar black haired Doctor Murphy standing by the coffee machine was the only occupant, aside from the gentle scent of whiskey, that is. He turned around with a slight jump when I entered the room, but his surprised eyes soon reduced in size, settling on an ugly sneer.

"Oh, Cullen." He muttered before turning back to the coffee he was making, "How was the morgue?"

"Uneventful," I replied honestly, "All though we got through a few autopsies. How was the surgery?"

Murphy let out a cold laugh, "We lost him. We were… _understaffed_."

"The morgue could have waited," I pointed out, walking over to the bench where he was making coffee, "I could have stayed to operate."

He turned to me quickly; his eyes were wide with incredulity, "Are you remarking harshly upon my management of my team?"

"No," I shook my head, "You must do as you see fit, I'm only saying, in future –"

"You'd better watch it," he interrupted, "There won't be a future if you continue on the way you are. Don't drink that," he slapped away my hand that was reaching for the cold coffee pot, "It's mine."

I fervently hoped he didn't notice the stone-like nature of my skin when he'd stricken it, I tried my best to imitate the effect his contact would have had on a human.

The door to the staffroom opened loudly, slamming against the wall then, to reveal a most disgruntled looking Doctor Richardson, "Doctor Cullen," he said darkly, "What on Earth were you doing in the morgue this afternoon?"

If I'd not had such quick reflexes, I'd have been momentarily stunned, "There was a crisis," I replied simply, I'd always found it best not to blame others for silly orders they'd given, as unfair as that may seem.

"That's not your job," he grumbled.

"Of course not," I nodded, "It won't happen again. I seem to have been misinformed on what to do. I'll make sure I know my role better from now one."

He pursed his lips, still most unhappy, but allowed me a nod, before turning round and slamming the door behind him. He was two extremes, that man.

I looked to Murphy with a raised eyebrow, and he sneered back, "Lets get this straight, I _don't_ like you, I never _will_ like you, and I am not _here_ to like you. Don't get in my way and you won't have any issues, however, should you decide that you will, in fact, proceed to impede in my path I will not hesitate to destroy your feeble little career. Do you understand me?"

"Of course," I murmured quietly in a smooth voice, not at all intimidated by the human.

"Good." He took a swig of his coffee in the same fashion that one would take a swig of whiskey and my suspicions of alcohol seemed confirmed. He sighed, "My career here matters more than yours, newbie."

A knock on the door had us turning away from each other once more, as he called back an exasperated, "Yes?"

A flustered looking young nurse, with bright red cheeks and a flustered heartbeat appeared in the staffroom doorway. The wind blew in and carried with it a familiar honey-lilac-and-sun scent, what was Edward doing here at the hospital? Worry twisted my intestines.

"Uh, Doctor Cullen?" The nurse asked uncertainly in a high-pitched voice, "There's someone here to see you. A, uh, Mr. Masen."

Her red cheeks depend, and a wistful smile spread across her face, as I'm certain she pictured Edward standing in the corridor behind her.

I nodded, and hurried from the door, eager to get away from the whiskey in the coffee pot. "Thank you," I murmured to her when I came closer, but she was too flustered to make a reply.

Edward lingered on the other side of the corridor, holding his breath while glowering darkly at the staffroom door with deep black eyes. I had mixed feelings about the colour – good, because they weren't red, but also not good, because he'd just hunted the night before.

I wandered over to Edward, with soft footsteps following behind me.

"Thank you nurse," I said to the small woman in polite dismissal "You may go."

She gave me a small curtsey before leaving, something Edward would have once chuckled at. We watched her as she tripped and stumbled her way down the hall, but my mixed emotions did not let me feel any pity toward the poor woman, I couldn't even crack a smile at the humour of the situation. I was merely hovering between delight at Edward's visit, and being worried by it.

I turned back to my son, catching his black eyes with my own, "Edward, why are your eyes so dark," I wondered worriedly, "You hunted just yesterday."

"I have problems," he grumbled, his face was set in anger as he continued to glare toward the staffroom.

My eyes darted at the closed door behind us, and the empty corridor around us, "I'd invite you to my office, but I've yet to get one of those." I flicked him a grin that he didn't return, but he did take his eyes away from the door.

"Congratulations on your promotion, Esme will be delighted." His voice was softer as he applauded me, but I continued to worry over why he was here.

"I came to tell you I'd be going far to hunt tonight," he spoke in reply to my thoughts, "Obviously the nearby game isn't doing me any wonders, I think I need a mountain lion or two."

I nodded, shifting my weight in the most human of ways, as he adjusted his hat. "Perhaps that's a good idea." I murmured, wondering why our usual hunting habits weren't doing him any favours, "I could take a few days off, we could all go together."

"No, I'd rather go alone." His voice grew detached, "Esme's worry is getting on my nerves. No matter how many times I tell her there's nothing she can do, she doesn't stop thinking about it."

My brow furrowed with confusion, "You know it's only because she cares deeply for you."

"Mmm." He grumbled, "Sometimes I wish she wouldn't so much."

"Why-ever would you say that?" I asked in surprised.

"Because then I wouldn't hurt her so much," he breathed quickly, "I don't like your boss." His glowering eyes turned back to the staffroom door, and I figured he wanted to drop the subject.

"Murphy?" I wondered in clarification, surely he couldn't mean Richardson.

"Yes." He nodded, not taking his eyes off the door.

I sighed, and ran my hand through my hair, "Truthfully, nor do I."

"There's whiskey in his coffee." Edward's voice was emotionless, but I could see anger burning in his dark eyes, frankly it was frightening. "Thats why he won't let you heat the coffee pot."

"I thought I could smell it."

"And he's harassed half the women in this hospital." He let out a small growl, "He doesn't like you either."

I wasn't surprised, "Why not?"

"He's scared for his job."

I cocked my head to the side, "How so?"

"Because he went for the position at Harvard… and you got it. He fears you're a better surgeon than him. So it would seem, his fears are not misplaced."

I sighed, "It's unfortunate when one must let his prejudice affect his work. It's not something new however, I'm sure I'll get through."

A quiet and low growl rumbled in Edward's chest, "His thoughts are insufferable. As time passes I'm beginning to find it much harder to ignore the putrid things some people think. Best to remove myself, I think."

I nodded, but just as Edward moved to leave, I caught his arm, _Edward_ I thought, "I know you do not hasten to hear it, but if ever you would like to discuss why your thirst is bothering you so lately, you know I am more than willing."

He nodded, and shook my hand away from his arm, "I do know, and I don't want to. My burdens are not yours to bear. Thank you, none-the-less. It just goes to show though," his voice was even more low and dark as he paused to stare straight into my soul with his tortured dark eyes, "You were right, I'm not ready to be a doctor."

I shook my head. "Soon, Edward. Soon you will be," I tried to reassure him, but my efforts were futile. He merely shrugged and began to walk away.

"Whatever you say," his mutter echoed in my head as he disappeared down the hall.

I stood in the hall a moment longer, before re-entering the staffroom where Murphy remained sneering.

"Where are the other members of the team?" I wondered.

"Off at lunch," he grumbled, taking another swig of his coffee, "Good thing it's lunch time, I don't like being interrupted by personal visitors."

I didn't reply, I just nodded, and proceeded to the kettle when I made a cup of tea that would only go cold in my hands and eventually be tipped down the sink, as my thoughts drifted back to Edward. He'd been so high and happy once we'd come back from our travels, feeling perhaps he could do anything. It only made the disappointment worse when I stood there and told him I didn't think he was ready to face open wounds – the higher the hopes, the higher the fall, I suppose. I just hoped he didn't ever take that to mean that I was in any way disappointed in him, the truth was, I'd never been more proud.

Shortly after the team arrived back from their lunch breaks we got called to another emergency in the operating room. This time I was allowed to participate, so the rest of my shift passed quickly.

Mary pulled me aside afterward and congratulated me on the success, "Don't pay any mind to Murphy, he's a right old drat. You keep saving lives, boy – you're good at it. And if Murphy ever pulls another stunt like he did this morning, don't you worry, he'll have to face me, and I've got friends in very high places," she flicked me a wink and with a grin she left the room.

I was flattered by the human woman, but I was emotionally worn from the events of the morning, so I didn't want to stay around and chat. I disappeared without much of a goodbye; the picture of my wife waiting for me at home had me speeding down the road just moments later.

She was, after all, the silver lining of my bad days. I arrived home quickly, and as I parked the car in the garage, I could hear her sanding the floors on one of the upper levels. The sound brought a smile to my face, so I hurried over the lawn, through the trees and up the front porch, quickly opening the door and wandering inside.

"Bad day?" She called out from upstairs, as I placed my medical bag down on the floor by the door with a quiet thud, listening to her sanding stop, and her footsteps make their way toward the stairs.

"How did you know?" I wondered as I waited by the door.

"You always drag your feet when you're upset," she grinned quietly to herself as she appeared at the top of the stairs. What a sight she was for my eyes that had seen nothing but blood and death for hours on end.

She had her hair all messy again, it was easy to tell from her dusty dress that she'd been sanding all day, but the light powder and the slight dusting of dirt made her so much more beautiful to me. She was a hardworking woman that wife of mine.

I didn't reply to her observation, too taken with the beautiful sight to formulate a coherent response, but she descended the stairs with a knowing smile, and reached up to comb her fingers through my hair when she reached me.

Her voice was soft when she next spoke, just like the tender smile she gazed up at me with, "Would you like to talk about it?"

My worries seemed a little lighter with her gentle touch, and I sighed, "The head of the Trauma team is a little trying."

Her eyes lit up with beautiful delight, "So you got promoted. Darling, well done!"

I managed a smile at her endearment and praise, but admitted honestly, "A part of me wished that I hadn't."

Her head tilted to the side slightly as she eyed my with curiosity, "He must be quite the handful," her lips curved upwards though, "It will get better. I don't know how anyone could be unfriendly to such a lovely person as you."

I grinned and leaned down for a quick kiss, caressing her soft cheek in my hand, "Often I believe you think too highly of me," I breathed into her skin.

A quiet purr rumbled in her chest and she seemed unable to decide between eying me warily or smiling impishly so the result was an interesting mix of them both, "All though I'll not deny I'm biased, I tend to disagree," her little hand pried mine off her face, and tangled our fingers together, "Let's relocate to the fire – the sky looks stormy. I think we'll get a good one tonight."

I nodded and let her lead me through the archway to the left and into the long, narrow dark hallway, "Have you decided what to do with this room yet."

She sighed in annoyance, and I could see the corner of a grimace tugging at her lips, "No." Her reply came out in a huff.

I chuckled quietly to myself, "I'm sure you'll think of something. Did Edward tell you he was coming to see me today?"

She glanced at me with surprise on her face and shook her head as we reached the end of the hall and the arch to the great room, "No, he didn't. I haven't seen him since early this morning. He went out not long after you; he mumbled something about wanting something in town. I thought I'd managed to get through to him yesterday," her gentle face was long with disappointment.

"Well, he's talking to me again," I pointed out as we approached the burning hearth, "So that is an improvement."

She shrugged, "I guess so. Still…" she sighed.

I sat on the ground, and guided her down with me, settling her between my legs as I leaned up against the sofa. I placed my chin on her shoulder and she sighed back into me.

"It will get better." I placed a kiss on the end of her clavicle, "He just wanted to tell me that he was going for a hunt tonight, further away, hopefully for better game."

"But he just hunted yesterday," she pointed out, playing with the fingers of my hand that rested on her waist, "Why is he hunting again?"

I sighed, "That is a question that I've no answer for. He seems to be struggling, which is understandable – we don't just struggle in the newborn year; I know I struggled greatly for my whole first century. We are essentially denying ourselves our most innate desires, refusing our nature; it's not something that should ever be assumed to be easy."

"Do you think he's going to slip?" She wondered quietly, twiddling my fingers with worry.

"Well, he's hunting a great deal, so it doesn't seem he wants to. He's taking precautions and minimizing risks," I murmured, "It's the best thing to do, and a very mature decision. I'm proud of him for that."

"You should tell him that," she said firmly, "You should tell him that you're proud of him. He looks up to you so much, those words could change his world."

I nodded, "I will." I assured her while not entirely being sure how I could work that into a conversation with him.

"Good," she sighed, "I do wish he'd share what is going on in that precious head of his."

I stroked her light brown hair away from her face, and placed a kiss to her temple, "We'll figure it out, Esme. I know we will," I promised.

She nodded, and turned around to face me. I could tell by the slight frown adorning her pink lips that she didn't fully believe me, "Do you think we did the right thing, taking him to Europe?"

I lost myself in the worry of her golden orbs for a moment, "I ask myself that all the time. I think he may have done something rash if we'd stayed."

"Charles," she breathed, "We can't let him think those things again."

"I'm afraid that's out of our control, my love," I pointed out, "He thinks what he thinks."

"Then we should give him a reason not to think like that," her voice was fierce with determination.

"I'm not sure who would like that more, you or I, but I'm at a loss for things to say. Whenever I've been in any place remotely similar to his, my faith has always brought me back, but his faith is not quite as strong, I fear."

"We'll think of something," she breathed, turning back around and leaning up against me. "We have to." Her voice was strongly resolute as I tightened my hold, and fixed my lips back against her shoulder, hoping fervently that she was right.

Time passed quickly as the howling wind coaxed wayward branches into thrashing our house, and rain pelted down in sheets.

Edward arrived home in the morning, as I realised I'd been laying for ours on end with Esme on the floor in a daze of worried thoughts. His footsteps snapped me out of it, and we two straightened up before he entered. I helped Esme smooth out her hair, which was tied with a silk headscarf, not a ripped curtain this time. The reds and oranges of the Indian silk brought out the orange in her hair, and I couldn't resist the urge to place a tender kiss upon her cheek when she looked up at me with those bright doe eyes.

When Edward came in, I expected him to head up the stairs to his room, but he wandered into the study instead, and called out, "Hello."

Esme beamed, and quickly tugged me into my study where Edward stood waiting for us. I grinned upon seeing that his eyes were once again, a warm butterscotch gold, just like mine and Esme's.

Edward offered both Esme and I a timid smile. "I'm sorry for being so insufferable as of late, I know I've not been fair to either of you," he sighed, "But, to make it up to you, I come with good news," he looked to Esme with a grin, and held up a small letter for her to see, "You have mail from Ashland."

Esme nearly jumped in delight as she bounded forward, and wrapped Edward's neck in a tight hug, "Oh, thank you!" she exclaimed before placing a sweet kiss on his cheek, and grabbing the letter from his hand.

She eagerly moved to read it with excited, greedy eyes, as Edward turned to me, "You have mail too."

I chuckled, "Thank you, but I'm not hugging you for it, it's probably more bills."

Edward even managed a laugh as he handed me the pile of letters addressed to the head of the house.

We both turned to watch Esme as she opened the letter she'd been waiting months for. Her eyes shone with excitement, and her little pink tongue peeped out from between her lips as it always did when she was consumed by eagerness. When she managed to get the envelope open with great care, she beamed at the paper before she began reading, and I watched with an adoring smile as I relished in the happiness of it all, but it proved to be short lived. For her gaze didn't make it passed the first line; the smile faded from her lips as the light drained from her eyes and in the very next moment, Edward let out a strangled " _No_. _"_

Esme stood completely still with shock as the small little letter fell from her grasp and floated to the floor, and my own happiness turned into worry and dread that twisted my stomach.

"Esme?" I wondered quietly flashing to her side, reaching out for her.

She didn't reply, so Edward did instead.

"Elsie's dead," his voice was lifeless as he too, stood still.

The dread filling my stomach intensified and spread throughout by entire body as I wrapped my arms around Esme, and pulled her to me. Her head buried into my chest as I gazed at the letter lying on the floor over her shoulder.

The words written were not in Elsie's hand, but rather, they were scrawled in a very messy version of her husband's once tidy writing.

 _Dearest Anna,_

 _It is with deepest regret, and terrible heartache that I must inform you of my wife's passing. Not three weeks before Christmas she was attacked on the street by a predator lurking in a dark alleyway. I should have informed you earlier, to give you notice of her funeral, but I have been so taken with grief I am ashamed to admit to you, that is was not something that crossed my mind in the days…_

I was distracted from reading by a loud smash and growl from the other end of the room. Edward was near the back wall, pulling the bookshelves from where they stood and casting them on the ground, causing the books to fly around the room. I turned around, sheltering Esme from my flying prized possessions, as Edward moved on to the other furnishings, snapping the couch in two, ripping apart the armchair, punching a hole in the wall, smashing the windows and letting the pouring rain come inside, all the while growling and roaring about 'filthy monsters' who 'had no right to live.'

Esme remained frozen during Edward's tirade, which only stopped when he paused to stare me in the eyes, almost in challenge, but I offered up nothing to him in aid. My mind was only filled with the image of him in a fury with wild hair and manic eyes. He let out another growl, a menacing rumbling right from his chest, before storming for the doorway, opening the big oak door and flinging it back so it hit in the wall. The screws in the hinges popped out as it continued to swing, and Edward disappeared into the darkness of the wild storm. The haunting image of him looking at me, begging me to say something to make it better, to make it _all_ better, remained in my mind as I listened to the door swing, and his footsteps fade into the sound of the rain.

Finally, I'd run out of things to tell him in hopes to placate him… and quite frankly I think he'd run out of reasons to listen. So I held my wife in the study, and just watched as the teetering door finally fell off its hinges.

* * *

 _A.N. First, thank you for your reviews! They're always much appreciated. Secondly, forgive the liberties I've taken with the medical details in this chapter, it was giving me a headache. Oh, how I do not love the scarce amount of available information regarding what healthcare was like in the 1920s._

 _So now we've got the start of Esme's problems at school, and Carlisle's problems at work, along with their problems with Edward (which Edward will explain more of when we get inside his head, don't worry). So now the fun can really begin!_

 _I'd love to say that I've never come across anyone like Doctor Murphy in my time, but alas, as a lot of fields are, medicine and science can be very cut-throat - or maybe I've just had bad luck? ;)_

 _Apologies for the long wait, this one didn't want to be written! Also, if you haven't read Faith & Love - Esme was known in the town of Ashland as 'Anna' so no one would know she was the young teacher who jumped off a cliff._


	4. Unwanted Opinions

_Chapter Four: Unwanted Opinions_

 _Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1927_

 _Esme_

Shock has a way of eliminating thought. A way of sending even the most alert and astute immortal into a state of stillness and obliviousness.

My eyes had eagerly consumed the words written on paper as the early alarm bells began to resound after seeing just the first word. By the time I'd gotten halfway through the first sentence, the warning bells managed to tell me ' _this isn't her handwriting.'_ It would take hours upon hours for me to realize that I would never again have the enjoyment of receiving another letter from my dearest friend, and that I would never again see her handwriting telling me of fresh and new exciting happenings in what she often referred to as her 'most invigorating, and enchanting yet mundane life.'

The following days would see me sitting upon the floor, paper surrounding me, as I read through every single one of the letters she'd sent me over our five year long friendship. Carlisle would watch worriedly from the doorway, keeping an eye out for Edward and an eye out for me. He'd ring Gregson at one point, but I'd not have enough focus to pay any attention to what they were saying.

But in that moment, my mind went blank. I existed in a state of numbness and shock.

After Edward left, Carlisle carried me upstairs, and we lay on the bed for hours. The sun set, and rose again. Carlisle didn't leave for work, but I barely noticed. I just stared out the window as he stroked my hair. The rain stopped at one point, leaving only the wind behind. It tried to snow again after that, but it was too wet, so the snow stopped and sleet arrived. By that time the numbness in my heart had seeped into my bones.

I had known great and terrible grief in my short years on Earth. I had known struggle and I had known pain. More than any of that however, I had known loss. It was difficult as a teenager, losing my grandparents who, for a time, were my only source of hope. Then it was harder than anything I'd ever known losing my son. It was also difficult losing my humanity. But then I had gained. I'd gained immortality; I'd gained a family, a great love, and a loving son. I'd gained friends more dear to me than I'd ever known, and I had gained a miraculous life, destined to continue forever. But there was a terrible thing about being given forever to live – not everybody that you loved was given it too.

Sometimes, through the days and the nights that I lay on my bed being drowned by waves upon waves of terrible grief, I was filled with a hope and a reason to fight my way out. But the hardest thing to do while drowning, is to swim. The pain was so great that somehow it felt just, and I did not want for a second or a moment to feel happy again, because Elsie was gone, and that demanded sadness.

Such a simple word, sadness… it was like a little raindrop that symbolised a flood. And I drowned in it.

"Esme," a soothing baritone whispered in my ear, "Esme, come back to me, love."

It wasn't the first time that Carlisle had begged me to return to the world of consciousness, to the world that hadn't stopped even when mine did, but it was first time that I actually listened. Grief, I had learned, never got any easier, but with time, you just got used to feeling it.

The muted sunlight shone in the window in front of me, as drizzle hazed the view of the forest. For the first time in days I blinked, and for the first time in days, I took a breath.

The air was wet like winter always would be, the room was filled with cinnamon-pear-and-fresh-air, like it always had been, and the Earth turned around like it always would. The light rain pitter-pattered on the grass floor outside, in such a way only ears as sharp as mine could hear, and the gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the trees. Yes, the world was still the same… but it all felt so different.

Slowly – slower than a human – I turned over to face my worried husband. His golden eyes were dark in colour, and brimming with heartfelt worry.

"Hi," I murmured as he reached up to gently run his fingers down my cheek.

He smiled ever so slightly. "Hi," He breathed in reply, "You came back to me."

I closed my eyes and basked in the soothing sensation of his soft skin on mine, and the rhythmic motion that settled my still heart, "I always will."

"You were still for four days," he stated breathlessly.

My eyes opened slowly to see his expression; worry still crumpled his brow, while sadness swam in his eyes.

I gave a little shrug, "I was a little shocked. She's the first person I've lost since my son. I don't think I'm as strong as I used to be."

"Oh, my love," his eyes closed as his forehead came to rest on mine, and my own eyes fluttered closed too, "I am so sorry."

I nodded as a quiet sob rattled my chest, "Me too."

His arms wrapped around me as he enclosed me tightly in his embrace, where we remained for a short while. He could sense when I was ready to get up, and he watched from a distance as I went through my daily routine.

I checked the calendar in the library to see if I had any classes to attend, but I didn't, so I shuffled upstairs and tortured myself with her letters. I wasn't sure if the increased pain would mean that I got it out of my system quicker, and in the long run, I'd go from that 'grieving' stage to the 'happily remembering her and living in peace' stage a little faster, but it didn't really bother me, because I just wanted to feel her close.

A sea of white encircled me four hours as I sobbed tearlessly, trying to come up with a way that I could cry some sort of tears, but my mind came up with nothing so I just cried out in pain.

It got to the point on the fifth day, that I wasn't just grieving the loss of my friend, I was grieving the loss of everything… Even the things I hadn't lost yet.

I spent the sixth day in bed again. Carlisle was my only reason to get up, but he lay with me. So I basked in the comfort that his presence provided me.

It was only as I listened to the now pouring rain, that I realised I had been so very wrong. I had more to get up for than just Carlisle. I had my missing Edward to be strong for. Carlisle and I both knew that no good would come from following him into the woods, even though I'd not been in such a state to do so, but as the sixth night turned into the seventh morning, I was just about ready to tell Carlisle that it had been too long, when we heard quiet footsteps on the forest floor nearby.

"It's Edward," Carlisle murmured against my forehead, "He's home."

I nodded as my chin crumpled once again, and sobs filled my chest, "Good," I replied as firmly as I could, while my emotional state made my voice weak, "Now you go tell him off for making me miss him."

Carlisle laughed quietly, and kissed my skin once again, before promising he would, and departing for downstairs. I listened to both of their footsteps as they approached one another. Carlisle made it into the study before Edward made it up the porch steps. He lingered outside for a moment before he welcomed himself in, and that moment too long, changed my slight happiness, to slight dread. He was far from okay. I held my breath.

He wandered in slowly to greet Carlisle in the study, and I could only imagine his unhappy expression from Carlisle's tone when he spoke.

"Edward," Carlisle murmured his greeting in an anxious voice.

A low growl wafted up the stairs from the study all the way to my third floor room, as I listened nervously to their exchange.

"Take a seat, Edward," Carlisle suggested quietly, but Edward's reply was cold and firm.

"No."

"Okay," Carlisle murmured, ever the compassionate compromiser, "Let's talk standing up."

"I don't fancy talking," Edward's voice seemed empty and dead, but there was firmness to it, and yet somehow his words came out noncommittal.

"Saying that is all very well Edward, but if that were true you wouldn't have come in here, and besides we need to talk this through."

I imagined Edward's eyes narrowing into a glare, "Talk what through exactly? Elsie? What is there to talk about?"

"There's a great deal to talk about Edward. I'm not just talking about Elsie either; I'm talking about whatever it is you've been keeping from us for the past few weeks. If you're struggling with something then –"

"I need your help now, do I?" His voice grew louder with either agitation or exasperation, but I wasn't sure which, I itched to move and join the boys downstairs but decided against it. "Is it because my weak strength with bloodlust is somehow impacting my ability to manage my own problems? Or do you just see me as a dependent child sentenced to eternity needing daddy's help?"

There was a short silence, as I imagined Carlisle to stand there in shock while he processed Edward's sarcasm drenched scathing words.

"Where on Earth did that come from?" Carlisle's voice was quiet in reply; he was probably trying his best to hide the hurt in his thoughts.

"You," Edward's reply was nothing more than a snarl.

I heard Carlisle take a deep breath, "If this is about our discussion regarding you beginning your medical studies, I offered you help in beginning that journey –"

"Because I'm not competent enough to do it now." The flat tone worried me more than the anger and the sudden changes in reactions.

"Edward it took me decades, centuries even, to work up the strength to do that, I –" Carlisle tried to reason, but Edward interrupted.

"Let me guess, it'll take me longer because I'm not as good as you?"

Carlisle's tone was reproving, "Now that's not fair, Edward."

"Not fair? It's a bit rich for you to talk about things that aren't fair Carlisle. You think choosing this life for me was fair? You think that forcing me to live the way that you live was fair? You think –"

Carlisle – in a move most unlike he – interrupted Edward, "I gave you a choice."

"A choice implies that you're giving more than one option!" Edward yelled at Carlisle, "But I woke up and you explained to me why you live the way you live, not why they live the way they live! You provided me with a biased view of this life, and portrayed the other option to be so utterly horrid and reprehensible that only the scum of the Earth would choose it! So you sit here all high and mighty in your self-constructed kingdom of personal greatness, because your hands are clean of all sins, convincing yourself that you're making a positive contribution to the world by being a doctor, but turning a blind eye to the killings of people all around the world by the real sum of the Earth! Immoral and squalid people are out there taking lives from innocents like Elsie, and what do you do to help? Nothing. You just condemn other people to infinite lives of torture. You don't belong on the pedestal you live on. You make decisions for people, by fooling them into thinking they're making the decision themselves… you are manipulative and cowardly because you don't bother –"

"Edward!" Carlisle shouted in a thick, and barely unrecognisable British accent, "If 't be true, thee want to proceed conversing in such a way, I implore thee to removeth thyself from this room anon! Bethink oneself, return only when thou can speaketh with me in a cordial manner!"

Edward made no reply, perhaps too shocked to formulate words. Never had he, or I heard Carlisle lose his temper in such a way. I sat up in bed, ready to leave my dark room, go downstairs and calm them both down.

But after a very brief moment of silence, Carlisle composed himself, and I sat still.

"I apologise." He murmured, still in his British accent, "I should not have lost my temper with you. Forgive me. If that is truly how you view me, then I shall accept that, no matter how much I dislike it. But I would rather discuss it with you, cordially, than have it yelled at me."

"Forgive you?" Edward let out a little laugh, "Forgive _me_."

"For what?" Carlisle's voice was visibly stunned at yet another shift in Edward's demeanour.

"I have a very trying personality," he sighed; I could picture him pinching the bridge of his nose in self-directed exasperation.

"I disagree," Carlisle argued gently.

Edward let out a cold laugh, "Are we fated to disagree on everything?"

"Not everything," I could hear the smile in my husband's voice, "But the probability is stacked against our agreeing on it all too."

"You're not a coward," Edward admitted after a short while, "All though the jury is still out on you being slightly manipulative."

I pursed my lips in disagreement as I listened.

"That's fair. All though, shall I add, you were relieved when you woke up that you wouldn't have to slaughter the entire town," Carlisle pointed out.

"Touché."

"Please, let us sit, and discuss this in a civil manner."

Edward let out a huff, but from the rustling of his collar I assumed he nodded. While their feet quietly moved to chairs, Edward muttered, "You British people always need to sit down to talk about things."

I imagined Carlisle smiled at that, as they both took their seats, "Is it really the medicine issue that's bothering you so? If it is, we can start testing your control tonight."

"No," Edward murmured, "It's not just that. Besides if these last few days have taught me anything, it's that you were right, and I'm not ready."

"Mentally, I believe you are Edward. So, my concern is because of the vampire that is uncontrollable, it's not meant as a personal insult."

"I understand that, and I agree. Lately I've been struggling with the proper delivery of justice…" There was a pause, "No, I don't want to study law…" I repressed a sigh as I realised the conversation had turned into a mental one, "Well, yes, I suppose it is… No, not like that… I just think there's a better way… You are the only vampire in the history of vampires to decide to deny his own nature and consume the blood of animals instead of the natural food source."

"Not the only one." Carlisle spoke aloud, "You and Esme also do."

"You were he who made the decision so," Edward's voice was hard with frustration, and I couldn't quite understand what shifted to make his temper rise again.

"And you resent me for my decisions?"

"That's the point!" Edward exclaimed, "I shouldn't! I should respect you for that, but it's always on my nerves because it's always on my mind. There's nothing wrong with you, centuries and centuries of peace can prove that so that means there must be something wrong with me."

"There's nothing wrong with you Edward, you're just having a crisis, trust me, the Lord will –"

"Enough with the talk about _faith_!" Edward yelled as he stood back up again, and kicked the chair beneath him so hard it hit the wall with a loud bang, and I was on my feet instantly. The white sheets that had been strewn atop my knees went flying like Edward's chair. "We are vampires for crying out loud, Carlisle!" Edward shouted, as I carefully headed for the door, and down the stairs.

"We are the undead, the damned, and the unsaveable." Edward continued, "We're soulless creatures bound for a fate worse than hell."

"I don't believe anything is beyond saving," Carlisle murmured as I reached the bottom floor, and moved toward the doorway.

Carlisle was still seated in an armchair, while Edward towered over him. There was a mess of books scattered on the floor by broken wood of another bookshelf, and the discarded chair along the same wall of the doorway.

"Oh you don't do you?" Edward laughed sardonically, "Well I happen to disagree, I believe in monsters wholeheartedly, and I believe that they deserved to go unsaved."

"Edward," I murmured, as I walked in the room.

Edward whipped around to look at me, oddly surprised at my presence. His angry face softened the slightest bit before he murmured, "Esme go back upstairs."

I shook my head, feeling small, weak and venerable by the door, "Why?"

"You don't need to see this."

I took a deep breath, and walked in the room further. Carlisle stood up, his hand twitched by his side, but I gave the tiniest shake of my head, I was going to be all right.

"Yes I do," I replied back with firmness.

"Just go back upstairs," he sighed.

"No," I insisted as I continued walking forward.

"Esme, I'm angry right now. You know how I get when I'm angry," Edward pleaded, "Just look at this place, I ruined it. I can't hurt you like that."

I smiled at his gentle, caring heart, "And that's why you won't."

"I don't know." His voice lost all power as it turned into a whimper, "I don't know what I'm capable of anymore."

"You could never hurt anyone that you loved, Edward. You're not like that."

"I doubt that very much."

"Sweetheart, you detest people who do hurt others that they're supposed to love. That alone would stop you from doing the same." I was just feet away from him, with his bowed head, rigid shoulders, and balled fists. "You are kind, and you are gentle," I whispered, reaching out for one of his white-knuckled fists, "All though you might take it out on the furniture, trust yourself to know that is the only object your fury will be damaged by." His hand relaxed in my grasp, so I reached up to place my other on his cheek, "I know you're hurting right now. I am too, and that's okay. We're allowed to hurt, but darling, be angry at those who have done the hurting, not those who are within arms reach."

He raised his eyes to look upon my face, and the strong wall of resilience finally cracked. Pain that seemed far too old for his years swam in the venom of his eyes, I could all but see the entire planet sitting atop his shoulders, as his rigid posture finally caved in.

He sighed, and dropped his eyes from mine, "I have acted… unforgivably."

I smiled, and nudged his face back up so his eyes would find mine once more, "And yet, my dear, you are forgiven."

Standing on my tiptoes, I pressed a kiss to his cheek, and then encircled my arms around him. He held me tightly for a moment; as if it would be the very last opportunity he'd ever get to embrace me, and then let me go.

He looked to Carlisle, who watched on with a gentle smile, Edward opened his mouth but no words came out. Carlisle nodded, none-the-less, "I know. It's all right."

The two men stood nodding at each other for a moment, before Edward took a deep breath, "I might go upstairs and…"

"Won't you join us in the living room?" Carlisle wondered, "I found an interesting transcript of a lecture the other day, about a new theory in mathematics, they call it 'Hibert's paradox of the Grand Hotel.' I thought you might have some ideas on it?"

After a moment's consideration, Edward agreed, and wandered off into the great room. Carlisle reached for my hand, placed a kiss on my head, and whispered against my skin, "I love you."

Then for the first time, in a long time, we three spent the night as a family.

~.~.~

The week that followed my week of grief was filled with days the colour of determination, and strength. I picked myself up quicker than I ever thought possible, with a renewed sense of vigour and purpose. I returned to my routine at college, dragging a somewhat protesting Edward with me, all the while convincing myself that the balance between grief and moving on would somehow get me through. In the hardest moments I clung to the memory of my son's very first anniversary, and the important lesson that Carlisle silently taught me while we made our way across the English countryside in a rental car. And, like I always had before, I got through it.

I tried to be subtle with my new purpose so Edward wouldn't catch on, and it wouldn't serve the opposite effect to it's intents – if he ever did overhear me and my musings, he never let me know. The purpose that filled my days, was to fill Edward's with as many reasons to be happy as I could possibly fathom. He didn't make it easy, however.

I started with suggesting he fill his time with things I knew he loved, like playing piano, but he simply replied that he didn't feel like it. I suggested he have a look through Carlisle's library to see if any books piqued his interested, but apparently he wasn't in the mood. I wondered if he'd like to go for a run with me in the forest for fun, but he seemed to think he had better things to do. He never did do anything aside from lie atop his bed, and stare at the canopy above him. I never lingered in the doorway (when it was open, which wasn't often) because I didn't want to impose upon him, but whenever I caught a glimpse inside, I noticed that his face was either hard and dark, filled with concentration, or soft and peaceful with quiet thought.

His distance made our once fruitful, happy family seem like a dry and desolate desert.

I would not, however, even entertain the thought of giving up on him. Nor would Carlisle.

He tried to spark conversation with our son, mentioning millions of topics that Edward would have once been delighted to discuss, like advances in technology, and medicine, and automobiles. He even refused to reminisce about his favourite symphony we went to see in Munich, and the rest of the night in the Bavarian State library, where he taught himself to play the violin. He'd leave the room silently if Carlisle or I ever even thought about the Mozart muddle of '25 – something he once admitted to be his most treasured memory.

It was almost as if he was fervently denying himself the one thing that I so greatly desired to give him – happiness. Although as to why he would do that, I was utterly clueless. It seemed that we were, for a very short time there, playing an awful game of 'tug of war,' that saw Carlisle and I pulling the dismal depression away from him, while he tugged it closer.

"Thinking about Edward again?" Carlisle wondered, swinging off a branch above, and plopping down by my side. I was sitting on some intertwined roots of trees that rivalled my husband in age, waiting for him to clean up his captured prey.

"I always am, it seems."

He sighed, leaning his head back against the tree behind us, "Me too."

"I just wish there was something we could do to make him happier," I murmured, shaking my head, playing with my fingers, "But whatever we try, he seems to rebut straight away."

Carlisle reached forward, and placed his hand atop of mine, "We just have to keep trying love," he offered me a small smile, as he straightened up, and then leaned closer to me, "Soon enough we'll find something that will make it better. We just have to have faith." He pressed a soft kiss to my cheek, before standing up, and offering his hand to me in help, "I'd love to stay, but I'm walking on thin ice with Doctor Murphy, so I'd best be at the hospital for my shift on time."

I smiled, and let out a humourless laugh at the thought of the insufferable sounding co-worker, "I hope he's stopped drinking on the job. Conducting surgery while intoxicated isn't a good idea, is it?"

Carlisle shook his head, with a frown, "I can't think of anything to do that won't end in him losing his job. I don't want to destroy his life, I just want him to find a reason to be a better person."

I put my hand in his, and let him pull me up. He grinned, and winked, "You are a heavy one, aren't you?"

I just laughed, "It's all that non-existent bear I've been drinking."

We ran hand in hand back to the house, where Edward was still locked away in his room. He hadn't wanted to come hunting with us, so he'd declined our offer earlier, saying that he'd prefer to travel further to get something better than just deer. Something in the odd tone he used told me that he had a place in mind, but I couldn't quite pick where.

Wishing Carlisle a good day after he'd been up stairs and changed, I secured his scarf around his neck, and kissed him goodbye, waving from the grass as he drove down the driveway. I didn't have any classes for the day, so I wandered back into the house trying to come up with something interesting to do. The second floor landing still needed another coat of paint, but I didn't really fancy painting walls. For some odd, unexplainable reason, I'd seemed to have lost all drive to make our 'house of horrors' less horrible and more of a home. The darkness that filled the cold rooms of the house fitted perfectly with the darkness that filled the cold limbs of our bodies.

I meandered up the stairs, glancing longingly at Edward's closed door on the second floor, and kept climbing to the top, deciding to see if I felt like painting anything in my art room.

The room with wooden walls and wooden floors seemed to be ever changing, but it was only because it was filled with blank canvases that never stayed blank for very long at all, so the contents of the room were moved constantly. I kept my paints and brushes by my easel in front of the window on the wall opposite from the door. I'd no idea what I wanted to paint, so I picked up all my paint pots and spent a little while going through the colours. I sighed unhappily when I unscrewed the jar of white to find it was nearly all gone, and when I saw the missing magenta colour I'd fallen in love with in Paris, but never purchased because of the bald man yelling at me about bread.

I ended up spending the following hours taking inventory, and compiling a mental list of all the things I'd need to purchase next time we took a trip to Boston. When suddenly, after deciding that I _did_ in fact want a size seven paintbrush, it occurred to me that Edward might enjoy taking a trip to Boston that very day, after all, he did like cities.

I slowly packed away the paintbrushes I'd lined up across the floor, and after gazing at the potted ivy that sat near the window for a moment, I went down to Edward's bedroom door. Oddly, he didn't call for me to enter before I knocked.

"You can open the door," he murmured after three quiet taps upon the wood.

Gently turning the brass doorknob, I pushed the door open, and poked my head through the gap. Edward lay on his bed, hands tucked beneath his head on the pillow, staring up at the canopy, wearing his favourite holey socks.

"Would you like to go to Boston today?" I wondered quickly.

He blinked once, before inhaling a deep breath and looking my way, "Boston?" he repeated, as if the word was foreign on his tongue. His brow furrowed for a very short moment, before he smiled slightly, sat up, and nodded, "Yes. Boston would be nice."

"All right," I grinned back, "I'll just change my clothes, and then I'll be ready."

"Of course," he murmured, hopping up off his bed, "I'll wait for you downstairs."

Closing the door, I quickly ran up to the room I shared with Carlisle and chose the very first dress that I saw, and checked my hair in the mirror. Pairing the dress with a matching hat and my favourite brooch, I grabbed my coat by the door and a pair of gloves of the dresser, and after I slipped my stocking clad feet into my shoes, I ran downstairs where Edward waited by the door.

"Would you like to drive?" he wondered, fastening his flat cap on his head and offering me a small smile.

I shook my head, and grabbed the keys out of the bureau by the door, "No, you can."

He accepted the keys graciously, before opening the front door and ushering me out. In the blink on an eye, we were in the car and speeding down the long driveway.

We chugged down the main road from Cambridge to Boston at an appropriate speed, but I could see discontent at the snails pace, written all over Edward's face.

He flicked me a wry grin, "I suppose I should be grateful for speed limits, humans are terrible with this slow velocity I cringe to imagine how they'd be with anything faster. The amount of crash victims Carlisle treats! As much as I love cars, they're a dangerous thing to give to a creature with such slow reaction times."

I smiled over at him, but had no reply to give.

"So you and Carlisle sent something down to Gregson?" He wondered, taking his eyes off the road for a moment to look at me.

I nodded, "Carlisle's helped me organise to pay off Gregson's mortgage. I see now that I should have done that while Elsie was alive." I sighed, "I'm awfully terrible at being a good friend."

Edward's brow furrowed, and his face crumpled, "Don't be so self-deprecating, Esme, you know that's not true."

"I'm not being self-deprecating," I told him, playing with my gloved fingers in my lap, "I'm just being honest. There are many things I didn't think of, which I've thought of now that I should have done to make Elsie's life happier. I was too caught up in my own life to think about her. If I had done all of these things for her while she was alive, then I would have been a better friend than I really was."

"That still doesn't make you a bad friend," he reasoned, "Elsie loved you. She didn't expect anything more from you than what you gave."

"No, you're right." I nodded, "And there's always a lesson to be learned from everything. Even things you wish you never had to experience."

He cocked his head to the side and flicked his eyes back to me for an instant, all of a sudden becoming very interested in what I was saying, "What makes you say that?"

I ignored the suspicion at his much too intrigued mood, "Well… Carlisle always told me how hard it would be to have relationships outside of our world, with humans, you know? Because they die. I always accepted that, but it was a shock to lose Elsie so soon, I just feel like it might not be the wisest idea to have such a close friend again."

His brow furrowed, "So, you're going to completely withdraw from society?"

I shook my head, "No. I'm only thinking that perhaps the exceptionally reclusive and peculiar reputation that you and Carlisle had before I came along might be the best one."

"You had one friend, Esme. You didn't chum up to the entire town," he told me, "You do maintain the reclusive and peculiar reputation we have. It's just different looking at it from the other side… you know, as most things are."

I looked at him in confusion, "What do you mean by that?"

He shook his head too quickly, "Never mind. I didn't mean anything."

All though I desperately wanted to pry, I bit my tongue and respected his privacy. He sighed deeply before the cab lapsed into silence for a large portion of the ride.

The long drive to Boston passed rather quickly, and when we arrived in Boston Edward parked as far in the central city as he could, for the cloud cover in the city didn't look as thick as it did back in Cambridge, and we might need the car for a quick escape.

We picked up a few odds and ends here and there, books, newspapers, and things of the like. We went into a male's clothes shop where I purchased a new flat cap and a few ties for Carlisle, and Edward got some heavy-duty clothes, and boots for hunting.

"Planning on going somewhere far away?" I wondered jokingly as I picked up the thick jacket that had fallen on the floor by the seat he occupied while fitting his boots.

He made no reply, only offered me a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. The little voice in the back of my head found that curious, but I shook it off. By lunchtime the clouds had begun to thin even more, so we found a nice bench under some trees in a park, where we quickly sat down in case the sun did in fact decide to show its face.

Edward watched the clouds carefully, his face relaxed in a serenely thoughtful expression. After a moment, he turned to me, "Will you be all right if I leave you here for a moment? There's something I need to get. It's a surprise, you can't come."

I laughed in bafflement, but nodded none-the-less, so he checked the sky once more, and rose.

"Wait here," he smiled, before disappearing across the street. I watched him closely, but he entered a store I wasn't sure the name of, for the sign was obscured by trees. With a shrug and a shake of my head I looked around the park filled with people. Instead of wondering where he'd run off to, I decided to bask in the cool winter air, and watch all the brave humans who'd daringly ignored the crisp wind and decided to venture out into the cold. After all, people watching was a treasured pastime of mine.

A couple walked arm in arm, dressed very nicely, toward a quiet hotel, while a mother quickly dashed across the grass with a crying child grasping her hand, and an elderly man hobbled along the path relying all too much upon the stick he held in his right hand.

A man munching on a repulsive looking sandwich while reading the morning paper, sat on the bench at the other end of the park, while there were a two older women sitting on another bench not far from me. One of them was dabbing her red eyes with a handkerchief, while the other tried to comfort her, and I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but my vampire ears honed into their conversation.

"Nora dear, you do look most upset, won't you tell me what is going on?" The younger of the two women wondered in a thick southern accent, as she reached for the gloved hand of the other woman.

"I can't!" Nora sobbed, "I simply can't."

"Oh, sure you can! You can tell me everything, that's what friends are for."

I looked away, and tried to block the women's conversation out of my mind, for they seemed to be the dearest of friends, and Elsie's death was still all to fresh. I needn't be grieving in a pubic place like poor Nora. My vampire ears refused to ignore the conversation, however, because a part of me still wanted to listen in.

"I'm just… I'm so embarrassed," Nora confessed in a whisper.

"You have nothing to be embarrassed about with me," the southern woman replied, matching the weeping lady's hushed tone.

"I sure do, Lou-Anne."

"Haven't I always told you, I will never judge you, dear? Perhaps I can make this better." Lou-Anne rubbed Nora's hand gently.

"There's nothing you can do." Nora shook her head, "I've been shamed."

"Shamed, how?"

There was a slight pause as Nora worked herself up to the confession, "Johnny's left me!"

Lou-Anne's eyes widened noticeably, "Left you?"

"Yes!" Nora exclaimed in a whisper, "And we're… we're… we're getting a _divorce_!"

Lou-Anne gasped, remaining silent for a moment, while Nora sobbed harder.

"Oh, Nora, I am so sorry. You two looked so happy."

"We weren't. We never were. It's been going on for months. He's never home. He's always out, and then I find that he's been living with somebody else! Oh, I just wish he would have done it quickly. The lingering caused so much more pain. I just can't believe he'd do that to me! He told me he loved me, and now he's telling that to someone else. Even worse, I'll have to leave the house and now my family is gone I…"

My still heart throbbed for poor Nora, while a part of me thought her lucky for having such an understanding friend in Lou-Anne. I had to force myself to look away once again, as I imagined Elsie and I on a park bench somewhere sharing the stories of our lives, all though I most certainly didn't want to imagine the conversation being quite the same as Nora's and Lou-Anne's.

"Well, you'll have to come and stay with us." Lou-Anne insisted, "Trevor won't mind, and if he does, he won't say anything. Not while you're in need. And you have _not_ been shamed."

I took a deep breath and fixed my eyes upon the half obscured store that Edward had disappeared into. I could see a slight fraction of the window, and his familiar silhouette. But I must have imagined seeing him standing there watching me with the all too familiar pain etched into his expression, for in the blink of an eye the man in the window was gone – and Edward would never use vampire speed where humans could see.

Having lost interest in Lou-Anne and Nora's conversation, it was easy to tune their voices out, but I was also suddenly completely disinterested in the happenings of the people around me, so I kept my eyes fixated on the store and waited patiently for Edward to come back. The sun finally burst through the cloud cover and shined on all the humans who were not under the tree like me. I heard a few sighs of contentment at the welcomed warmth, but I wouldn't let myself feel envy, even though I would have liked to have been out there in the sun with them.

Edward appeared after then sun had gone back behind the clouds. He ducked across the street, waving thanks at the car that stopped for him, and grinned when he saw me. His hands were full with boxes and bags, and his grin spread wider as my eyebrows knitted together.

"What on Earth have you got there?" I wondered, when he was in hearing range.

"I heard you wanted some paint supplies," he shrugged as he took the seat next to me, "So I thought I'd surprise you with them. The kind store keeper even wrapped some of the things in gift wrap for you."

"Why?" I wondered, grinning.

"Because gifts aren't gifts without gift wrap," he stated simply with a shrug.

"You're not still competing with Carlisle to see who can spoil me most, are you?"

He let out a laugh, and pulled a small box out of one of the bags, "I'm always competing with Carlisle when it comes to gifts."

I carefully undid the wrapping of the small box, and every gift thereafter to reveal a whole hoard of things I hadn't even thought to want. He'd got me tubes and tubes of ready-made oil paints, the white I'd run out of, the magenta I'd seen in Paris, and a million blues that could paint the most beautiful skies, rich greens, and luxurious purples, and when I thought there couldn't possibly be any other colour he could have gotten me, he pulled out a new box, filled with an entire set of Winsor & Newton watercolours. Then came the number seven Winsor & Newton brush endorsed by the late Queen Victoria herself, as well as all the new canvas he'd acquired.

"Edward! This is incredible," I murmured, looking around at all the gifts he'd spoiled me with, "You really shouldn't have."

He shrugged, "I figure ever artist should have all the equipment they need in abundance."

"Is this some subtle way of perhaps telling me that you've changed your mind, and think my studying art is a good idea?" I wondered hopefully.

He grinned, and nodded, "Yes, I'll admit to that."

I wrapped him in a tight hug, which he returned with a slight chuckle.

"It's good to see you happy," he murmured after we'd pulled away, "And I know that painting makes you happy, so it's fine time I stop fighting you about your own life. We each make decisions, even if others don't agree with that, because that's how life is."

I cocked my head to the side, and considered his new mood quietly. He smiled a little, but the upturned angle of his lips couldn't distract me from the little voice in the back of my head, wondering if his words had a double meaning, "It's good to see you happy too." I murmured back slowly.

He nodded, "Giving gifts is a gift in itself. Besides, your thoughts – all though always delightful to hear – are even better when you have a paintbrush in hand. You should paint more, you know. And you shouldn't be afraid to paint things that hurt – Carlisle taught me that about music. 'Pour the pain into the piano,' he once said to me, so it's my time to tell you now: pour the pain into the paint, and cover the canvas with what you're feeling. We can't cry tears, but I can cry melodies, and you can cry pictures. Those women…." he gestured to the now empty parch bench once occupied by Nora and Lou-Anne, "I couldn't help but hear you thinking of Elsie, and loss. Well, no matter how bad it gets… Even after the thing itself is long gone, the painting remains. And what is it that you always say? If you can't have the subject itself, the memory is the next best thing."

Although his words were true, and everything I needed to hear days ago, that little voice in my head kept alerting me to something that was strange. Maybe it was the sudden change in his demeanour, or the softness of his voice I hadn't heard in a long, long time, but I sensed a double meaning… Like somehow, he wasn't talking about Elsie…

"What is with the aura of finality here, Edward?" I wondered, voicing my thoughts.

He shook his head and eyed me curiously, "There's no aura. I'm just giving you paints."

I wanted to argue back, and tell him it felt like he was saying a grand old goodbye, but if he'd denied it all ready, then I must have been seeing things where things were not. I tended to have a habit of reading far too far into situations, sometimes. So I just forced a smile, and nodded.

"Thank you, I love them."

After we packed all of the gifts into the car, we went back to finish purchasing everything we needed. Edward maintained his happiness for the rest of the day, and it was so long there, that I came to forget I suspected anything hiding behind it. He was happy, and I was happy, and everything was right in the world again.

As we drove home the simmering tension inside of Edward seemed to have completely disappeared. His posture was less rigid, more comfortable, and he even wore a tiny smile as he drove. Finally, things seemed like they were settling down. He seemed content – he seemed at peace. I could breathe a sigh of relief.

Or so I so foolishly told myself so.

* * *

 _AN. Hi! Thanks for the reviews last chapter! I always love reading them :) Sorry for the long wait for this chapter! Next up: Edward's mind! Tell me what you think!_


	5. Silent Minds

_Chapter Five: Silent Minds_

 _Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1927_

 _Edward_

Edwin Hubbel Chapin once said ' _the essence of justice is mercy,_ ' I only know this because Carlisle knows this, and his voice is so loud in my head. Carlisle takes it to mean that in all cases forgiveness and mercy should be shown. He's somehow managed to pervert the meaning of justice in his mind, well enough so he doesn't believe that mercy and justice are actually different things.

The dust particles above me floated in the stagnant silence shrouding my solitary self, as I went over this for the thousandth time. They were so slight and so insignificant that they went entirely unnoticed by the human population that infested the Earth, and yet, according to the beliefs held by those who believed in Divine Creation, as well as the laws established by those followers of natural selection, the insignificant dust particles did, in fact, have a purpose in the air... whatever that purpose may be.

Insignificance was an odd thing to ponder, but I'd been pondering it a lot during all the days I lay watching the particles float. I pondered mercy and justice too, and I tried to link them together, to practice finding patterns in them, in hopes that I'd be able to find patterns in my past, patterns that would make senseless things become things of great sense. I'd come to find patterns were important, just like insignificant details.

I breathed a deep breath, watching the particles being pulled closer toward me on my bed, and then breathed out, pushing them back to the horrid mint green canopy above me as I continued to contemplate the patterns, and try to complete the collection I'd compiled in my head...

 _Charles Evenson._

That was a name that could turn my family upside down and wring it inside out. It was the kind of thing we didn't talk about, the kind of thing that would keep me up at night if I wasn't awake because of the inability to sleep. Like an old, old tree, the roots of my problems were buried deep, and I had to look back six years to find one of the first pieces of the pattern I was searching for. When it came to Charles Evenson I realised that I could not agree with Edwin Hubbel Chapin or Carlisle Cullen, because this monster did not deserve to be shown any mercy. The fact that he still breathed was a most dissatisfying thing, but a pattern is not a pattern when it only has one piece, so Charles Evenson alone was something I could cope with.

I searched for patterns in the years that followed, but they were not the easiest things to find. We travelled Europe and Asia for nearly five years, and came across our fair share of vampires. I expected to be repulsed and disturbed by them but it surprised me when I saw in the clarity of their heads, the reason why they lived the way they lived; the reason that they did what they did. It surprised me that I understood, and it surprised me even more that I empathised. I had always imagined the nomadic, traditional vampires to be wild fiends that I should never, and would never come to like, or appreciate, but this was most certainly not the case. There was a civility to some groups that astounded me, and shook my values and beliefs to the bone. They bought a conflict into my heart, but that conflict alone was something I could cope with.

The problem began to occur when the things that I could cope with on their own, no longer remained on their own. See, each and every challenged by itself was a hill I could climb – they only made the path I walked very hilly, but when they were together linked in a neat pattern, they stacked up atop each other so I wasn't climbing hills, I was climbing something that reached higher than the moon. That was a much more difficult thing.

I realise now, a particular moment when a weakness inside of me opened up to let all of these troubles grow higher than Everest. It was the eve of the Italian nomad debacle of '25, – which ended in Carlisle insisting we flee the country and swim across the Mediterranean into the Greek Islands before Aro could catch our scent – Carlisle and Esme were out frolicking around (when dawn broke their frolicking resulted in Esme's first run-in with authorities - they got caught having broken into the _Orto Botanico di Roma_ gardens in the middle of the night – it took Carlisle a good three weeks after that to convince Esme that some human laws simply could not apply to vampires) and I sat in a dark alleyway near the _Teatro Costanzi_ in Rome listening to the symphony playing through the thick walls. Sometimes it was hard to hear the music over all the loud voices thinking in the audience's heads, but if I focussed on the orchestra enough, I could almost make the voices turn into a static noise. If I wanted to listen to one particular person's voice, I had to truly focus on it, otherwise the thoughts were indistinguishable through the crowd. Sometimes my attention was piqued, just like it was that night, by a woman who was sitting in the seventeenth row. She was thinking about a man who shared the same name as I and it was almost as if she were calling out to me, so naturally she garnered my attention. After I focussed on her mind, another mind became very loud. It was the man who sat on the other side of the room who'd laid eyes upon her and began pondering things he really shouldn't have. These were the kinds of things I couldn't pay attention to, even though it was wrong, if I'd not had the gift I did, then I wouldn't know what I knew, so I had to ignore the man and hope he did not act upon any of his imagined things. After all, I was just an observer, pretending that they all had silent minds. So I did my best to tune him out and pay attention to the show, it was quite the feat not to let the man's thoughts ruin my night. I left when the Blue Danube came on, I couldn't bear another ten minutes of that, and so I never learned the fate of the woman who knew another Edward, or the man who sat staring at her. I hoped profusely that at the end of the night they both went their separate ways and never saw each other again, but soon enough I was too distracted to care as I caught an immortal scent I didn't recognise.

I see it clear with hindsight; that was the very night I began more than ever, to dislike my gift. And unfortunately, with the heightened dislike came a heightened awareness of it, and thoughts were much harder to ignore. I accredited this to Esme's theory of my desire to help. That conclusion led me to mistakenly assume my time would be best spent saving lives just like Carlisle did. When I suggested it to him and he politely told me he didn't think it best, my temper got the best of me – further confirming his opinion. How could I make a pledge of peace in a world so prone to the opposite? I was not my creator – I am a much lesser man. The thoughts grew louder from that day on the disapproval was everywhere I went. Naturally, as strangers' mental voices grew louder in my head Carlisle's and Esme's did too. Day by day, the dust particles watched as I grew obsessed with Carlisle's reasoning behind everything… like why mercy is the essence of justice, and why I wasn't ready to be a doctor. It upset him that he'd upset me, which was a hard thing to hear. I still listened, though, I listened to him read his journals, his bible, his notes. I listened carefully as he pondered my situation time and time again, trying to come up with a way to help – he was always thinking of ways to help. Those thoughts were particularly unbearable. The most painful thing about my pain, was that Esme and Carlisle could feel it too, and it was causing them pain, and their pain was causing me even more pain. It was a vicious circle of some kind of shared depression – we were all on a sinking ship that insisted upon plummeting down, and it seemed as though I was at the helm.

It was a conscious decision to ignore the patterns and especially the conclusion they were pointing to, for Esme and Carlisle's sake. It wasn't fair for me to bring them down, so I resolved to change it. That resolve was shattered into a million pieces when I delivered the news to Esme that Elsie had been murdered… Then did the worst thing possible – I acted like a monster myself. See, I thought the only time I'd have to encounter my distaste of monsters was when I remembered Charles, but it was that night I realised the pattern I'd been pondering over was in fact centred around monsters and murderers, and they were everywhere I turned.

I ran to the forest nearby and hunted – animals of course – but as I leaned over the carcass of my prey I pondered why I bothered as the moment the patterns finally linked together in my mind hit me with a force that could shatter worlds. The patterns were simple: A who, a what, a where, a why, and a how. Charles Evenson, killed, in Columbus, because he was a monster, and I was a monster who only had two reasons to deny his natural food source – two reasons who would do much better without him. The only puzzle piece I was missing was a when. For Esme, I couldn't leave then, not when she was in pain. So I went back. I lingered by the fringes of the forest in case she needed me be close, and when her thoughts grew alarmed at my long absence I went back. Carlisle was waiting for me none the less, but I didn't want to see Carlisle, I wanted to see Esme. I wanted to feel pain with her, because Carlisle never seemed to feel the kind of pain that she felt – the kind of pain that I was feeling. He never seemed to suffer deeply like that, not Carlisle, he who was always calm and in control. Who sat there and told me what I could and could not do, who carefully constructed prejudice in my head against every vampire that did not live the way he lived, who caused me to have preconceived opinions on who those vampires would be and how they would act, only for those beliefs to be shattered, sending me off balance into downward spiral of confusion and frustration. Had he ever felt the way that I felt? Or was he so perfect that he never had to worry? I worked myself into such a state with anger at him that I said somethings that weren't really true. But I had frustrations, and he was the closest thing to me, so naturally it was easiest for them to be taken out on him. It was moments like those that I didn't even recognise myself, and that scared me.

But Esme made it better, but Esme shouldn't have to spend forever making it better for me. In the days that followed she kept on trying to make it better, but my mind was continuously in murderous places, there was no reason in my head why I should allow myself to bask in the contentment and serenity that her suggestions would have brought me.

It was that night after the fight when I retired to my room that I realised, after months of consideration, my indecision had finally been conquered.

When we were in Ireland, Maggie and I grew quite close, we were each the first gifted vampire the other had met. We visited them twice, at the beginning of our journey and also at the very end. Right before we departed for the United States after the second time we'd met with them, Maggie eyed me contemplatively, _You're a mysterious one aren't you, Edward?_ She thought, _I can tell you're lying about something, but I can't decide if you're lying to them,_ her eyes drifted to Esme and Carlisle, who were saying goodbye to Siobhan and Liam, before the scarlet orbs darted back and bored into mine, _or if you're lying to yourself._

I never replied, because she was right – I was caught up in a lie, but no longer would I lie to myself.

I realised as I lay on my bed, continuously watching those silly dust particles float around, and went over every single moment of the collection I'd created, that Esme had always been right. I did have a desire to help, and I did want to save lives. The only detail I ever got wrong was when I assumed I could do it in the same fashion that Carlisle did, but I could do it differently.

A quiet knock at my door interrupted me.

"You can open the door," I murmured absentmindedly, registering Esme's thoughts in my mind.

She popped her head through the door, and wondered, "Would you like to go to Boston today?"

For a short moment my mind went blank, but then a thousand possibilities floated into my brain.

I took a deep breath and fixed my eyes on Esme's face, "Boston?"

Could I manage to make my past days of absentness better for her by just one day in Boston? I wasn't sure, but I could try. Smiling and sitting up, I nodded, "Yes. Boston would be nice."

She grinned, and told me she'd meet me downstairs, so I quickly changed my socks, and put on some shoes before dashing downstairs and putting on my hat. We exchanged pleasantries as we hopped into the car, and I tried to make an effort to talk to her, after all, I wasn't quite sure how long we had left. She briefly talked about how Carlisle helped her sort things out for Gregson. This didn't surprise me, Carlisle was always thinking of ways to help, and yet, he was looking in all the wrong places. Paying of a mortgage wouldn't in any way change the fact that Elsie had been murmured. What Gregson needed was the assurance that no other woman would die at the hands of the feral monster like his wife had. Carlisle may have seen this if he hadn't twisted the meaning of justice in his head, because mercy and justice are not the same thing. Mercy is an act of kindness; justice is an act of protection. It was justice that the world needed, even though the monster may have needed mercy.

While we shopped in the city, I figured I'd may as well take up the opportunity to gather things I'd need for my trip, like heavy-duty clothes. I wasn't exactly sure when I'd next be in any state to be buying clothes.

Around lunchtime, we took a break in the park, and I came up with the most brilliant idea. It was high time I finished arguments that I never should have started with her – namely the art versus architecture debate, so I found as many of her favourite paints as I could, while she waited in the park, watching the lives go by. That was finally the moment that the last puzzle piece fell into place. Up until then, I was still unresolved as to when I would leave, but that decision was made for me by a stranger I'd never met before, I'd never even seen with my own two eyes, but I'd listened to through Esme's mind while I purchased paints for her.

" _Oh, I just wish he would have done it quickly."_ The woman – Nora – had said, _"The lingering caused so much more pain."_ Those simple, seemingly unrelated sentences, spoke volumes to me, and I knew – the sooner, the better.

I left the store with my mind made up, and delighted in Esme's joy at the paints. It was strange how free I felt with the last decision made, it was not a mission to smile at her happiness, nor was I plagued with guilt at enjoying it. Esme picked up on my resolve, but the doubt that still filled her mind from the emotional abuse she suffered through her human life caused her to dismiss her astute observation the moment I denied it. She didn't notice that she still suffered the remaining consequences of her horrid final human years, and to be in a position where she was able to overcome it, she would have to identify it herself, and stop denying it. That wasn't my battle anymore. My battle was something else to do with her past, and maybe it might help her see her remaining troubles.

Ever observant Esme also noticed a different aspect of my resolve… the contentment that came with it, but she falsely accredited to my finding peace in the life she loved. Would that, in the end, make this so much more painful for her? I had a feeling that Carlisle knew what was coming, perhaps he knew it for longer than I did, and he so desperately wanted to stop it, but he wasn't quite sure how. Esme probably saw it too, but she didn't want to, so she'd never accept it.

I wish she would. I hoped the memory of this moment would one day give her closure. I tried to tell her that when I was gone, a piece of me would always be with her if she wanted it. I'm sure I managed to get that through to her, even if she didn't want me to.

When we got home that night, she went up to her art room to unload her new supplies, while I retreated to my room. Reunited with my dust particles and horrid mint canopy, I lay down for what may be one of the very last times, and watched them float about.

As I let my mind wander and ponder a whole slew of new things, I came across another obstacle I still faced. How on Earth could I leave Carlisle and Esme? I'd never intentionally broken hearts before. How to do it softly and quickly?

While Esme quietly hummed to herself, putting her paints away in her third-floor art room watched over by the English Ivy Carlisle had given her on the first anniversary of her son's death (he took her to a quiet river, and told her that all though the poisonous aspect of Ivy plants had negative connotations, they symbolised eternity, dependence, and attachment, not to mention that it could grow in even the darkest, and harshest of places) which she loved. Her happiness briefly warmed my distant heart, but it was filled with too many icicles for any amount of joy to melt.

It was not long after that Carlisle arrived home, and settled in front of the fire with his wife for the night, softly reading to her one of his beloved novels. Her mind was filled with nothing but happiness and love, while she listened to his British tenor whisper wondrous words into her ear. They were so far wrapped up in one another that I knew they'd pay me not attention. My mind, although made up, was still a muddle. I had so many things to figure out. I couldn't fathom a bigger change in life than the one I was about to experience, and I wasn't sure what that would do to me... or who it would make me. But I knew I had to plan as much as I could, so I quietly sat up and wandered over to my drawer where blank pages and unused pens sat on top. Taking them back to my bed, I began to contemplate what my first move would be.

Staring down at that blank sheet as I sat underneath that dust green canopy, I wasn't quite sure who I was supposed to be anymore, but there was one thing I knew I simply could not be - Just an observer, pretending that they all have silent minds.

* * *

 _A.N._ _Just a sorter little chapter for you all, so we finally can come to know what's been going on in Edward's mind! I was going to include this in the chapter after he leaves, but I'm afraid it would be too long and slow if I did, and I couldn't simply leave it out because it's important to know what's going on in Edward's precious head, (also Jessica314 convinced me to) so here it is! I hope I haven't left anything out, I've read it nearly 1000 times but I feel like I've forgotten something... Oh well. Hope you enjoyed! Tell me what you think! And thanks for the reviews last chapter. If I haven't gotten back to you yet, I will very soon!_


	6. Gone

_Chapter Six: Gone_

 _Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1927_

 _Carlisle_

"This is going to be on your exam," I called out, "So I'm guessing I'll see the group of you that I can hear snoring, up the back, repeating this course next year."

It was late-afternoon on a particular sunny day at the end of January 1927, and I was giving a lecture on immunology during my pathophysiology class that I took every Thursday at Harvard.

The boys at the back that I addressed, were nudged by their classmates who sat near, and each woke with a very disorientated look upon their faces, which soon turned to one of complete and utter embarrassment when they saw I was watching them. Blood rushed to their faces, as their heat rates increased and beads of sweat formed on their foreheads. They all mumbled their apologies as they tired to become invisible.

"Don't apologise to me," I laughed, "It's your education. I know this lecture is a bit dry, and its not really what you came here for, but it is important. This area of pathophysiology is rapidly growing with new discoveries being made very single day. If any of you decide to further your studies and diverge into research you may find that immunology is for you. There is a lot yet to discover." I took my eyes off the boys in the back row, and addressed the rest of the large lecture theatre as I wrapped up the class for the day, "We've not got long left in this lecture, so let me summarize. We covered the basis of immunology, and the pioneers of the discipline. We talked about blood serum, phagocytes, antitoxins and anaphylaxis. Then we briefly touched on vaccines, and the impacts that Edward Jenner, Louis Pasteur, and Robert Koch had on developing these vaccines. Are there any questions?" I wondered, briefly scanning the dim room for any hands shooting into the air.

Only one was raised – the one that was always raised – so I turned to the boy whom always sat in the middle row on the left hand side of the room and was met with a wide, cheeky grin.

"Yes, Mr. Jane?" I wondered to the boy with strawberry blonde hair, brown eyes, and a garishly bright green sweater, knowing fully well what he was going to ask.

A few students anticipated his question also, and began to quietly snicker to themselves, "Since the science of transplantation has begun to really take off in recent years, I was wondering, have they managed to do a brain transplant yet?"

I sighed with a grin, trying to hold in a laugh, "Not since last week, Mr. Jane, and I daresay next week when you ask me again, they still won't have managed. Yet, if I am horribly mistaken, and by some miracle they have, you cannot have my brain, Mr. Jane. You'll simply have to study for the exam."

Frank tried to look disappointed, but his cheeky grin couldn't be wiped off his face, just like my humoured one couldn't be wiped of either. Frank's sister was Nurse Louise Jane, a colleague of mine on the trauma team at Cambridge hospital. He was a cheeky blighter, always joking about needing extra help with his studies, but he and I both knew very well that he was in the top five of the class. The snickers turned into chuckles and Frank got what he wanted from the crowd. They sobered up quickly, and so I addressed the room filled with men once again.

"Are there any questions relating to this lecture?" I wondered once more with a point of clarification, but it seemed as though those who'd managed to stay awake through the entire thing either grasped the concepts, or were too confused to even form a query.

"In that case," I checked my pocket watch, "And with five minutes left of class, I should tell you about your written assessment piece for this course." There were a few groans as I loaded their all ready full schedules with more work, while they all searched for their diaries, or a spare piece of paper to take notes.

"I've placed the assignment details on a sheet by the door for you all to take. It's your responsibility to grab one on the way out. If you don't grab a sheet, this does not give you an excuse not to hand in the assignment." I threw a pointed look over at Frank, who grinned widely at me, "They'll be available outside my office for those of you who forget. Now, as we only briefly and broadly covered vaccines, you are to write me a report focussing on a specific recently developed vaccine, and when I say recent I mean since the dawn of the decade, which means, you may choose from diphtheria, tuberculosis, or scarlet fever. I don't want to be reading any reports on smallpox, cholera, rabies, tetanus, typhoid fever or the bubonic plague, because I read them all as a small child in the last century," the room filled with soft chuckles as I addressed a joke I'd heard going around the campus (they all thought I must have started my medical training as a child because I looked far too young to be a professor, I often replied, jokingly, to them 'Well, what if I did?" for I found humour generally deterred the less suspicious minds). I waited for the laughter to die down again, as I paced back and forth with a small grin on my face. "Make the succinct," I continued when the room was once again quiet, "And interesting. If I read too many before dinner, and then fall asleep at the table because of them, my wife will never forgive me… or you." They laughed again, most of them had seen Esme and knew how harmless she looked (if only they knew she was a vampire) and I knew a few of them had a hard time imagining her angry. "You're more than welcome to come and visit me to discuss the course work or the assignment in my office – you all know my office hours, but don't try to butter me up with coffee, I'm not Doctor Brian, you wont gain an extra five percent for coffee. Now, be gone with you all, and have a good day!"

The hall filled with quiet laughter, rustling and shuffling before it erupted with chatter. The students started to leave the classroom like water gurgling down a drain, shouting out 'goodbye' and 'thank you' to me as they left. I gave them all waves as I started to pull down the posters I'd hung up on the wall behind me for them to look at while they pretended to listen to me – I didn't much like setting up the magic lantern, it took too long to prepare the slides, and technology could be very temperamental.

By the time I had pulled down my posters and returned my papers to my bag, the theatre was nearly empty, only a few members of the class still drained out the door, aside, of course, for Frank. It seemed to be our routine – we would walk and talk after class. He waited in the aisle between the seats and grinned as I grabbed my bag and approached.

"Mr. Jane," I smiled as I passed and he fell into step with me walking toward the open door, "How are you this week?"

"Good, thanks, Doctor Cullen. And yourself?" He inquired in his usual cheery manner.

"I am very well, thank you. Anything in particular I can help you with today?" I wondered for the sake of it, knowing he'd have no other request than the usual.

He shrugged, "Not much, it was a good lecture you gave today. I think I picked up the important parts."

I chuckled as we made it to the door that opened up into the bright day – thankfully clouds had arrived, hiding the sun that was dropping down toward the horizon. Students milled on the grass as Frank and I exited the lecture theatre and wandered down the brick path toward my office.

"The important parts are all that matters," I murmured, waiting for him to move on to the subject I knew he wanted to discuss.

We walked in silence for a moment longer, as he awkwardly danced around the edges of his question, then after only a minute he wondered, "So, how is Louise going?"

Every week I got the sensation of _déjà vu_ , for every week, he would wonder the exact same thing, and I would reply in much the same fashion as I had the week before, "She is doing very well. She's a good nurse, and she seems to be enjoying the theatre work, all though I'm sure she's all ready told you this."

"She has," he nodded, "I just worry."

I flicked him a smile, he was a few inches shorter than me and seemed to stumble a lot, but he had the caring nature that a doctor needs. "She is your sister," I replied, "It's understandable."

"Yeah," he nodded, "She's my twin."

My eyebrows rose a little, I hadn't known that. "Oh, she never said."

"Mmmm, and you know, well, I've heard some horror stories about that other doctor."

I sighed, as we reached my office, "I'm not sure what you're talking about, Mr. Jane, and nor am I sure that I should be discussing it. Nurse Louise is just fine, and I am more than certain that she would tell you the same thing if you asked her. None-the-less, I will, as I'm sure you'll request, keep an eye out for her, as will the rest of the team."

He grinned widely at me again, "Thanks Doc. I'll let you go, but say 'hi' to Mrs. Esme for me again, will you?"

I let out a laugh, and gave him a nod, as my hand fell on the brass doorknob of my office. He turned to walk away but I noticed his empty hands, so I called him back, "Mr. Jane! Did you forget to collect an assignment sheet?" I wondered, pulling a piece of paper out of my bag.

He blushed, laughed and nodded, dashing back to my side.

"Thanks Doc," he grinned before grabbing the sheet and briskly walking away. I shook my head as I watched him depart, wondering exactly what had made him think that Louise would be in any kind of danger at work. I couldn't imagine there would be gossip going around about Doctor Murphy, all though, if there were I wouldn't be surprised if it were true.

I had barely made it inside my office where I planned to finish some paper work, and make myself available for student consultations until I had to head to the hospital near six, when the sound of rushing heels clicking on the brick coming toward my office alerted me to a flustered guest.

Only moments later, before I could even get to my desk, the flustered face of an administration assistant, Julie Smart, appeared in my doorway. She tried to catch her breath from her hurried walk from the administration block to my office before she addressed me, "I'm awfully sorry to interrupt, Doctor Cullen," she said between laboured breaths, "But, the hospital called, they need you to come early." She exhaled deeply and straightened her posture, before pushing her glasses up her nose and glancing down at the note she held in her hand, "A Doctor Walton called in sick this morning, and Doctor Phillip went home early with the flu, while Nurse Laura got attacked by a female patient and injected with a sedative so she's been admitted into the… Do you want me to continue?" She asked, a little out of breath.

I shook my head with a smile, "No, thank you, Mrs. Smart. I think I understand. Will you write a note and put it on my office door, telling my students I'll be unavailable this afternoon, for me please? Give them my sincerest apologies."

She nodded as she heaved, and moved out of the doorway, "Of course, Doctor Cullen."

I walked forward, outside, and the stopped next to her. She looked up at me with dazed hazel eyes, "And Mrs. Smart?" I wondered.

"Uh huh?" her voice was high pitched, and her eyes were wide, pupils dilating, heart beat increasing, her breathing stopped, it wasn't intentional to make her feel like this, but I could nearly see her knees giving way.

"Thank you, and remember to breathe," I smiled.

She let out the breath she was holding in, as a wide smile spread across her face, and she swayed gently, nodding.

I walked away, shaking my head slightly at hopeless humans, all though I couldn't understand the species – even though I'd tried, having taken up reading psychology journals lately – they were still one of my favourite species on Earth.

I made it to my car in record time, and thankfully the cloud cover managed to hold the sun, so I sent a thankful prayer up to the good Lord as I turned the key in the ignition and backed out of my parking spot.

It was only a short drive to the hospital, and as I drove I watched the world pass by. Shopkeepers prepared for the final hour before they closed and went home, as couples, friends and small families strolled down streets, arm in arm, heading to the cinema, or the theatre, even doing some last minute shopping before closing. The past few days had seen the weather warming slightly, although it was brisk and chilly outside, it was a stark improvement on the barely humanly bearable weather that had plagued the city over the previous weeks. Like the humans, Esme had relished in it too, spending nearly every day outside, mulling around in the treetops, sketching by the river, and drawing up her dreams for the house's exterior. Her happiness never once failed to increase my own, and unbelievably it seemed to be working on Edward too. I'm not entirely sure what went on during the day they visited Boston, but Esme must have done something, or said something, or thought something that impacted Edward greatly, for in the days since, he was calm – albeit still distant, but still, much calmer. The anger seemed to have dissipated almost completely, to be replaced with slight exasperation, mild bitterness and infrequent frustration.

Yet, I knew Edward well. I knew him better than Esme did, for I had known him in his newborn years. I knew every single one of his moods and everything that came with it, and I could tell from the look of concentration in his eyes that lingered nearly constantly, that he was thinking very hard about something. The only thing I didn't know was what he was concentrating on. His peace was something that also only ever came with a resolve, and all though I hoped that resolve had something to do with him finding a way that he could remain happy in our life, the less optimistic, more cynical, and perhaps wiser area of my cerebral cortex, told me the probabilities were not stacked in my hope's favour.

Those were things that would send me insane if I pondered them for too long, it was like beating my head against bedrock, and it wouldn't get me anywhere because I was at a complete loss as to what I should do. Admittedly, the psychology journal's I'd been reading as of late found their way into my hands as a result of my dire desire to try and understand what was going on in Edward's head. I figured that if he wouldn't tell me, I'd have to figure it out for myself, and all though I soon became aware of his dilemma I was still unsure of how to treat it. There was no article in the _American Journal of Abnormal Psychology_ regarding recommended treatments for an adolescent vampire having an existential crisis.

With a deep breath and a pitiful attempt at clearing my mind, I pulled into the hospital car parking lot. Once I parked, I sat for a moment before getting out, to try and convince myself that Edward would be okay, and also to act human. I was supposed to have had a long day, and I could see Doug Pewter, the anaesthetist, watching me as he got out of his own car not too far away. I looked over for a moment, and the man with slightly damp and dishevelled ash brown hair and friendly grey eyes smiled and waved at me, before making his way over.

I hopped out of the car, and into the mild winter's day, noting gratefully that the clouds had fully covered the sinking sun, making the day take on a grey hue, and seem prematurely dark.

"Looks like our good run is over, and a storm is coming," Pewter remarked, grey eyes on the sky as he approached.

I nodded as I locked the car, "Looks like it. My wife will be upset."

Pewter grinned, tearing his eyes away from the clouds and gesturing toward the door questioningly, "Mine too. Should we head in?"

"Of course," I smiled, tightening my grip on my medical bag like a human would.

"I'll admit," he conversed as the gravel crunched beneath our feet while we headed toward the doors of the imposing grey hospital, "I'm glad there's a storm coming. I like the rain."

"I can't say I mind it either, all though I prefer being by a fire when it's really pouring," I replied, experiencing the same odd feeling I always got when I acted like a real human.

"Hear, hear!" He chuckled, "But you're going to make me want to play hooky tonight."

I laughed along with him, as we finally reached the large door that led to our workplace. I pulled it open, making it look much heavier than it actually was, and held it as he entered.

"I don't think we can afford for you to do that, Pewter," I grinned as I made it inside, "I hear a great portion of the other rotation trauma team went home."

The happiness drained from his wrinkled grey eyes, before they filled with worry. His forehead crumpled, and his lips formed a frown, "No good, is it? No good at all. Did you hear about Nurse Laura?" He wondered as we nodded to a few colleagues that we walked passed down the corridor.

"She was mistakenly sedated, was she not?"

He nodded, "I'm not entirely sure how though," his eyes flicked ahead to a nurses station that Mark Diggins, the oxygen technician, was leaning up against, "I think we'll soon find out."

He flicked me a grin before we headed off to where Diggins was leaning against the wooden desk. He turned around curiously when he heard us approach, but his quizzical expression melted into a smile.

"Hello, you two," he grinned, "Bit late aren't you?"

Pewter laughed, "You're just gloating because you're here early for once. Flirting with the nurses, old man?"

Diggins rolled his eyes as the young nurse behind the bench caught my eye and blushed. I smiled, but she shyly looked away.

"I'm waiting for Mary. She's trying to find Louise, whose trying to get down to Laura, who –"

"Got sedated," Pewter interrupted, "We know. Question is, how?"

"If you'd have just let me finish," Diggins grumbled jokingly, "A woman came in last night, in labour. She gave birth to a little boy who died not long after. Soon after, she wandered down to the nursery and tried to take one of the babies. Nurse Laura was down there and tried to talk the woman out of it, but she was delusional, and grew agitated, so Laura tried to get her to put the baby down. There was a struggle, and a lot of wailing from the poor child, then a doctor came along with a needle, and got Laura's arm instead."

Pewter and I both cringed as clicking heels echoed through the corridor, and I relived my painful imaginings of Esme losing her child.

"Not good," Pewter murmured, looking away and spying Mary and Louise, "Here they come." He looked back to us, "It's be hard to lose a child, but as with all things, some women handle it better than others."

My mind was still on Esme as he murmured those words, and my heart ached to think of her alone, receiving the news that her child – her one ounce of hope that she relied on to get her through her struggles – had died. He was right; everyone handles it differently, after all, Esme jumped off a cliff.

"They'll have to make sure they get some counselling for the poor woman," I mused.

"They are," Louise announced as she and Mary joined our group, "They're getting one of those psychic doctors in."

We all grinned, "A psychologist?" Diggins wondered.

Louise blushed crimson, and laughed awkwardly, "Yeah. Them."

Diggins and Pewter tried their best not to laugh.

"Oh, you boys," Mary scolded, "Stop dilly dallying. We need to get to work."

We headed off down the corridor toward our little staff room. As we walked, Pewter tried to smooth his dishevelled hair, after having caught his reflection in the glass of a painting that hung on the wall.

"What have you been doing?" Wondered Diggins, eyeing his friend most curiously, "Your hair is all wet old chap, was there a rain cloud above your house?"

"Oh, very funny," Pewter shot a mock glare to Diggins, "You're just nursing a sorry spot because you're losing all your hair, old man."

"Why do you both call each other 'old man' or 'old chap'?" Louise wondered before Diggins – who was, in truth, very nearly bald – could reply.

Diggins and Pewter shared a conspiratorial grin, before they pointed at me in synchronisation.

For the life of me, I couldn't recall any moment that I had said or inferred anything to make them start calling each other 'old,' which was an alarming thing for an immortal with more than two hundred years of perfect recall. Somewhat surprised by their accusation, and in the very most human way, I raised my finger to my chest and looked between my colleagues, then blurted out with confusion, "Me?"

They both began to laugh, so I glanced over to Mary for an explanation, but she an Louise looked just as perplexed as I hoped I did.

We rounded a corner while the men continued to laugh, but soon Pewter sobered up, "You should have seen you face, young chap, you looked like you thought you'd done a terrible thing! We figured with such a young lad as yourself on the team, we'd better accept the fact that we're old now."

Diggins nodded, and grinned, "We're embracing the truth, it's rather good for your health you know, reduced stress and – "

"Hello slackers," a dark sneer interrupted from behind, and we all turned around to see Doctor Murphy, with his familiar scent of whiskey, slick black hair and custom glare.

Out the corner of my eye, I saw Diggins and Pewter exchange an unhappy look, before we all murmured amicable greetings to our boss. The atmosphere surrounding us changed dramatically then. The lightweight, happy, and humorous mood we enjoyed just moments before was turned into a dark, and serious, uncomfortable feeling. The conversation stopped, and we made our way to the staff room in silence. When we arrived Murphy went straight for his coffee pot, as the nurses wandered to the table with journals scattered atop, and Pewter, Diggins and I stored our belongings in the shelves to the left of the door. We stayed away from the benches and cupboards that lined the back wall – Murphy got exceptionally stroppy when someone used the kitchen at the same time as him, and made sure we didn't sit with the nurses – he also got stroppy when the entire team conversed without making him the center of attention. Someone turned on the radio as the ladies settled into the seats that occupied the middle of the room, and Diggins, Pewter and I sparked a quiet conversation about Nurse Laura.

Murphy irked me. I couldn't deny that, and I could understand why Edward believed that we should use our enhanced ability to purge the world of evil, but I also believed that Murphy was the way he was because of something unhappy in his life, or his past. It wasn't a matter of harming people inclined to malice like him, but rather, to show him a better way of living; to heal him. However, just as I wasn't sure how to help Edward, I'd no idea how to help Murphy either. I seemed to just spend a great time feeling utterly useless.

My short bout of sadness was interrupted by the announcement of our first emergency for the night, so we quickly abandoned what we were doing, and fled to the operating room.

A small child lay on the table, with legs crushed by his grandfather's Model-T. It always saddened me to work on children, but I reminded myself that it was much better to have them on my table, than for the ME to have them on his. It was obvious we'd have to amputate at the knees, but the issue was that Murphy had the shakes. It was the whiskey, I'd bet my left arm, and I'm not a betting man. Just as he was about to make the first incision, he looked to me with frightened, pleading eyes. He was silently asking me to help him, I was sure, so, for the boys sake I spoke quickly.

"Mind if I take this one, Murphy?" I wondered, "The experience would be great."

He grumbled, just to maintain his bitter reputation, but nodded none-the-less, and gave me what I thought I could take as a thankful glance.

The surgery went as smoothly as I could have hoped for, we managed to keep him hydrated so it didn't seem as though he'd have future kidney damage, and the dirty tissue was well below his knees so it looked as though we removed all the dirt and necrosis, hopefully avoiding gangrene.

He was moved to the paediatric intensive care unit in case the bacteria had crept high enough to still be in his system, but we were cautiously optimistic. After we cleaned up, the team and I watched from afar as Murphy went to deliver the news to the young man and his wife who waited anxiously in the waiting room. They were simultaneously relieved and horrified, and the man held his wailing wife tightly, as Murphy reached out a shaky hand in comfort.

We didn't get much downtime before we were called to our next emergency. A man had suffered extensive gunshot wounds to his abdomen from a hunting accident, and all though some members of our team were optimistic, it really didn't look good from the outset.

As the emergency physician of the team, I was second in command, and had to follow Doctor Murphy's command always with no exceptions. So he was not at all pleased that when he decided what injury we would focus on first, I disagreed.

"Doctor Murphy, he's got extensive bleeding from his head wound, and a fractured skull, his brain is most likey swelling," I murmured urgently as Murphy prepped to treat the gunshot wounds to the man's abdomen, "We need to alleviate the pressure before we fix the wounds in his stomach."

"And let him bleed out?" Murphy hissed with a glare, "Just because I let you take the lead once, Cullen, doesn't mean you're in charge. Now shut your overly opinionated mouth and do what I say."

Begrudgingly I did what he said, hoping and praying that I this case he was right to fix the abdominal wound first. We succeeded with the task, but we lost our patient. He passed away on the table due to brain damage. It was always hard to announce time of death and leave the room, but together, with low spirits and sorry hearts, we did.

Unlike the rest of us, Murphy grumbled and mumbled his way out of the theatre, marching off into the darkness without telling any of us where he was going. We shared confused glances, but when, five minutes later, Murphy didn't arrive in the staff room, we all realised that his next job would fall on me. This next job was the most unfortunate of all.

I ran my fingers though my hair as I sighed, "I'll go tell the family of Mr. Braddock."

"Mr. Braddock?" Louise murmured as her brow furrowed, "Who is… oh," her eyes drifted back in the direction of the theatre as she realised who I was referring to, "I didn't even know his name." Her eyes swelled with tears and I gave her a small smile.

"Names are very important things to learn." I gently rubbed her arm and turned to the men, "Who do I talk to about getting Jeffery for the body?"

Four pairs of blank eyes looked at me. "Who is Jeffery?" Pewter wondered.

"The ME's assistant," I replied simply.

Pewter's face lit up in recognition after a moment's delay, "Oh, the nervous boy with a stutter, and red hair?"

"I didn't know he had a stutter."

"I didn't know his name was Jeffery. But he left, I think. Moved back to the Midwest or something. They've got a new boy now, but don't worry, I'll organise that, you just focus on the family, and Carlisle…" his expression turned soft and sincere, "Thank you."

I nodded with a small smiled, and moved to head off toward the door, but a rough hand gripped my arm. I turned around to be met with somber, serious, and grave dark eyes, "I'll come with you," Mary murmured in a low voice.

"That's very kind," I murmured, worried by her demeanour, "But you don't have to, I –"

"I will," she insisted in her grave, definite tone, before walking out the door in front of me. I decided against protesting despite my worry for her. Conversely, it may be good to have her there, even though I did not want that sadness to fall on Mary's shoulders, I often found having a member of the fairer sex settled mothers and wives more than it just being me delivering the news.

When we navigated the corridors to the reception desk, we soon found that the family hadn't even been notified of their loved one's admission to hospital. He'd been brought in by the hunting buddy who had mistakenly shot him, and that man hadn't had the chance to notify the family of the injuries for he had been taken away by police.

It pained me greatly to think that the man had a wife who was possibly still waiting for him to arrive home – completely unaware that he never again would do so. I had dealt with many deaths in my time, terminally ill patients having one last surgery, children with infectious diseases dying slowly, mass deaths in epidemics, and yet, for me, the very worst was the sudden, unexpected death… the ones that came in with no warning and just waltzed on in and turned worlds upside down. The worst part of my job by far, was telling the families that there was nothing we could do to save them.

Mary took a deep breath by my side as the Nurse called the family, and I noticed she was fighting back tears. She wasn't the type of woman to relish in sympathy or comfort however, so I kept my eyes away. When the other nurse was done on the phone, I asked if she could call for some pastoral help. As soon as she'd nodded she was back on the phone again, granting my requests.

I was filled with dread an ill feeling as I waited for both the pastor and the family to arrive. Even though the clock told me it was three in the morning, the pastor arrived quickly, with empathetic eyes and a sad frown.

He introduced himself as Pastor John Watkins, and wondered why he'd not met me before. He wasn't surprised when I told him that Murphy had disappeared, he mumbled a prayer for the doctor so quietly under his breath, if I had not been a vampire I wouldn't have heard him.

We didn't wait long after that until the nurse introduced us to a worried looking elderly couple, with heart rates too high, and seat on their brows. They held each others hands like they couldn't feel pressure or pain, and I wished I could have Esme to hold my hand as I broke their hearts.

"Mr. Walter Braddock, and Mrs Eve Braddock, yes?" I wondered with a small smile, and they nodded. Their hearts in their chests calming at my tone, "I'm Doctor Cullen, and this is Nurse Sutherland, and Pastor Watkins. If you'd follow me, there's a quiet room just down the hall where we can sit and talk."

They nodded nervously, and I could see the sweat forming on their skin, as Mrs. Braddock's heart accelerated even more.

The private room wasn't too far away, which was good, and after I welcomed them inside, they took their seats, and Mary fetched them both a glass of water.

I took a deep breath. There's a protocol to delivering bad news such as this. First, you establish how much the family knows about their loved one's condition; second you fill in the blanks. You then tell them what you did in attempts to save them, making sure above all else that you stress how much you tried. You make sure they know you did everything you could. That is important. And then, and only then, do you take a pause, and break the news.

There's a moment, right after the pause between 'We did everything we could,' and 'I'm very sorry,' which is the very last moment of hope in their eyes, because right when the 'very' comes out of your mouth the person you're talking to understands. They recoil from you slightly, their breathing stops and the light in their eyes drains away like the colour of their face and that's the outward expression of a breaking heart. And you know they know, but you have to carry on, and every gentle and kind morsel of your body is telling you to do it gently and say 'he didn't make it,' or 'he passed away,' or 'we were unable to save him,' but you know you have two choices: died or dead. And so you say it. You deliver the news that rips their heart in two, and you try to provide comfort – the shoulder pat – and if you're human you try not to cry. Then after a while, you go your separate ways, haunted by how much they've lost and how little you can do about it.

Those moments were just as bad as I thought they'd be.

"How much do you know of your son's accident?" I wondered.

"Nothing, nothing. " Mr. Braddock shook his head, "We got a call from Marla earlier on in the evening when Peter hadn't arrived home, she was worried, and the kids were asking where their father was, she thought he might be visiting us, but we all just assumed he'd gone out with his friends after work. She called us after the hospital telephoned her not long ago. She couldn't leave the kids to come in, and she didn't think much of it, so here we are. What's happened to our boy, doctor?"

And then that was it. I followed protocol. I told them what had happened, what we did in surgery, and how hard we tried. Then I told them, he had died.

And so when the words came out of my mouth, the elderly man's face crumpled and his head hung as he quietly began to sob, reciting the Lords name in what may have been a prayer or just a cry for help. The elderly woman simply stared at me. She did not blink. She did not breathe. Her lifeless eyes, drained of hope and of happiness bore into mine.

"I am so very sorry," I murmured once again, reaching gingerly out to touch her shoulder. My contact brought her out of her stunned state, and after she took a deep breath, and blinked her eyes, the momentary shock faded away, she murmured something incoherently and then began to shake her head as sobs rose in her chest.

The man with tear streaked cheeks, put his arm around his wife and pulled her to him and together they quietly cried.

WE lingered for a few moments longer until Pastor Watkins assured us he could take it from there, and the Braddock's had no further questions, so Mary and I quietly left the room. Out in the corridor, the pain of telling them the news still lingered.

I looked over to Mary before we started to walk off, and realised she was silently crying.

"Mary," I murmured, reaching a hand out for her. She hiccupped, and then took me by complete surprise, by simply walking into my chest, and sobbing. It was rather strange.

I figured it was just a facet of her brisk and brazen personality. Yet, it was saddening and sobering to see such an outwardly tough woman crumple and cry. I patted her back until she pushed away, wiping profusely at her eyes and clearing her throat.

"I do apologise, doctor," her voice was rough, "Lost myself for a moment."

"Nothing to apologise for," I smiled a small smile at her, "It's always a hard thing to do."

She nodded and headed off down the corridor without another word. I watched after her, feeling her pain, and wanting more than anything to call my wife just to hear her voice after my very long night. I never got any better and dealing with the pain of telling the family, even though I thought I would, I'm guess I'm glad it didn't. It meant that I still had compassion. All though the nearly physical pain was something I could do without.

I followed Mary down to the staff room, where the team was waiting for us to return. Louise engulfed Mary in a tight embrace when the old woman staggered in, and the men watched on with sadness.

"I think we deserve a break," Pewter announced briskly, "Since Murphy has decided to treat himself to one."

All though ridiculously irresponsible for an entire trauma team to disappear, we all agreed, and made sure to tell the nurses where we went. We quickly walked down the corridors together in silence, as each of our minds wandered to our own separate thoughts. I could feel my head getting heavier and heavier with every moment that passed, like the venom inside of it was turning to lead. I needed something to make it better, and the only think I could think of was Esme. I managed to get away and call her after convincing the team that "It's unlikely she'll be awake, but if she is she'll pick up. Often she gets carried away with one of her novels she doesn't see the time passing. If she's asleep the ringing won't wake her. It's too far away."

It was good to hear her voice, all though there were many things we couldn't discuss in case the operator was listening, but she told me about the book she was reading, and how Edward had played cards with her earlier, he'd even sat with her while she read by the fire, which made her happy. We talked for a long time, but it was mostly her talking and taking my mind off work. When I had to go I told her to get some sleep, and I heard her giggle on the other side of the line, "Is that so I won't take all the sheets when you're trying to sleep after you get home?" She wondered playfully.

Her flirtations never failed to bring a smile to my face, "Maybe it is… then again, maybe you should stay up all night and be tired like me tomorrow."

"Maybe I will be," she laughed, "I hope your shift gets better, sweetheart. I love you."

"As I love you," I promised, "I'll see you tomorrow love."

My heart swelled with love when she breathed, "Goodnight."

I missed her again as soon as I put down the phone, and unfortunately the hours that followed provided no more distraction, so I continued to miss her as the team and I mulled around our staff room, doing reports, drinking (or pretending to drink) coffee, occasionally talking, even taking short naps (or fake naps).

The next emergency came in at half-past five in the morning, right when we all thought we were ready to go home. Murphy was still nowhere to be seen, so we were down a member as we prepared for our newest patient.

For the first time all shift however, the surgery went smoothly. It was an absolute relief when we resurfaced from the operating theatre after the long and arduous surgery – which thankfully ended in a life being saved – and I realised it was time to head home. It was still partially a foreign feeling to look forward to my departure from my workplace, after such a long time dreading the silence that the empty hollow rooms would undoubtedly bring me. I assume, if the rooms were still so horridly sparse and discouraging the regret would still plague me, but luck was undoubtedly on my side, for the rooms of the house were, all though not quite full, furnished with care by the wife I'd long since abstained from hoping for.

So it was with a wide smile that I bid my colleagues farewell after we'd all cleaned up and washed off, and hopped in my car heading home.

It was mid-morning, much later than I would have left work had I not been caught up in an emergency, but it was still early enough for the roads to be quiet, and the birds to be singing. The sun was trapped behind a very thick cloud cover but it didn't look as though a storm had come, and if it did, it had certainly passed.

I looked forward to not only seeing Esme, but Edward too. I hoped to engage him in conversation about something, for I sorely missed his frank opinions and astute observations. He kept them locked up in his head, and in turn kept me locked out.

I pulled into the long driveway, lined either side by the trees, and zoomed down the gravel way with anticipation. When the forest broke to show the quaint little meadow that our house occupied, I spied Esme sitting on some tree roots by the water's edge. She was quietly humming to herself, smiling contentedly while she sketched something on her paper. She looked up toward the car, and her smile widened, she reached up her slender hand that still grimed the pencil and waved happily at me – a gesture that I returned with just as much joy.

I parked the car in the garage, grabbed my medical bag and set off to the banks of the river to greet my wife. She had her hair tied up in one of her silk ties she found in a market during our travels, she fell in love with the swirls and whirls of reds, blue, greens and yellows, but some of the caramel curls that had been haphazardly tied fell from the bunch and tumbled down the sides of her face. She looked up as I approached, resting her pencil on the page and smiling expectantly. As always, I was taken with her beauty, and her cheerful disposition. She was wrapped up in a blue knit cardigan which looked very warm, all though was completely unnecessary, but I always loved darker colours against her pale skin.

"Good morning," she grinned as I neared, "How was your shift?"

"Good morning to you too," I replied quietly, sitting down opposite her and leaning in to capture her lips in a gentle kiss, "It had its ups and downs, but it was manageable."

Her glistening golden eyes filled with care and worry, as she reached up to touch my cheek, "I'm sure you did the very best you could."

I sighed, and placed my medical bag on the ground beside me, "All things considered, I did."

Her small smiled widened, pinching her cheeks with the dimples I loved, "Then that is all anyone can ask of you."

I stole her lips again, with a smile then wondered, "Where is Edward?"

"He came out earlier to say he was off on a hunt," she replied with a small smile, "He didn't say where he was going, or how long he'd be, but he seemed in good spirits. Albeit a little quiet."

I tucked a tendril of caramel hair behind her ear, "That's good to hear. I'll go put my things away, you have a nice spot here."

She grinned up at me; "There's room for another if you care to join later?"

Straightening up, I returned her dazzling smile, "I think that sounds like a splendid idea, love. I shan't be long."

Catching my hand in hers and squeezing gently, she gave a little laugh, "I'll be waiting."

I tightened my grip lightly before letting go, and turning toward the tall, dark brown house, making it across the lawn, and up the porch steps in record time.

The house was just as quiet as I expected it to be as I opened the creaky front door into the entrance hall, and wandered on inside. I softly shut the door beside me, and headed toward the door to the right, out of the dark wooden room with the old creaky stairs and into my lovely light study, which had suffered quite the trauma since the beginning of the year. Since Edward's outbursts Esme had created new bookshelves for me, but with some careful reshuffling we realised I didn't quite require as many as I had before, so blank white walls were now a fixture along half of the left-hand side wall of the narrow room I spent a great deal of my alone time in. We even managed to fit a few other objects into the shelves that had not fit before, like candles and photos, even a few ornaments. Some, like the empty photo frame and the porcelain owl on the other side of the wall acted as artistic bookends.

I walked over to my desk, and pushed aside my haphazardly scattered _American Journal of Abnormal Psychology_ magazines that I'd been reading out of curiosity over the past months, and placed my medical bag atop it, quickly, absentmindedly surveying the room around me as I did so. Esme had to purchase a new arm chair after she was unable to repair the one Edward had broken, and for the atheistic state of the room, she decided that an entire set of furniture would be a better idea. All though I wasn't sure on the dark navy she'd chosen, especially when she usually insisted upon keeping the furniture in the houses light, it fitted my room much better than I could have imagined, which I guess is why I was not the artist of the family.

I reached into my bag to fish for a file about – hold on… _empty_ photo frame?

My eyes flicked back to where it stood on the other side of the room, as I realised that it had not been empty when I last saw it, in fact, that particular photo frame – with metal flowers and vines curling around the outsides – was home to my favourite photo of Esme and I. It was the first photo that we had of us together, half submerged in the water of an Ashland lake, as I – with a silly grin – held her in the air by the waist and she laughed freely. It was a little blurry, for we were moving when Edward snapped the shot, and I was just about to spin her around, but it was perfect none-the-less… and it was also gone.

I felt my eyebrows knit together as I wondered where it was, perhaps Esme had moved it? But she always commented on how she loved the way the silver metal looked with the monochrome black and white of that scene.

"Hmm," I murmured, abandoning my search for the files I needed to fill out, and darting across the other side of the room to examine the empty photo frame a little closer. I was surprised that it smelled very strongly of Edward's honey-lilac-and-sun scent in that particular part of the study, he'd probably been searching for a book.

I picked up the frame and looked over it, wondering if the dust on the back side of it would indicate when it had last been moved, but our house was practically dustless thanks to Esme, so I brought it up to my nose and gave it a whiff, surprised to smell Edward's scent instead of my wife's. Confusion knitted my brow once more as I placed the frame down and looked to the books that it had been sitting beside.

I couldn't quite believe I hadn't noticed it before, but the third one in had just a hundredth of an inch of white parchment poking out from between the pages at the top.

I slotted the book out of its place, I briefly looked over the title before I checked the scent – it was a William Wordsworth collection, drenched in honey-lilac-and-sun, telling me that the last person who'd handled the book was definitely Edward. I was left to assume that it was he who put the paper bookmark in it. Thinking he may have left a note as to why he took the photo I held the book by its spine and let the covers part as the pages followed, and revealed the folded parchment. My eyes fell upon the first words that adorned the pages:

" _To wicked deeds I was inclined,_ [it read] _  
And wicked fancies crossed my mind;  
And every man I chanced to see,  
I thought he knew some ill of me;  
No peace, within doors or without,  
And crazily and wearily,  
I went my work about;  
And oft was moved to flee from home,  
And hide my head where wild beasts roam.'_

That was an odd place to put a bookmark. The verse alone had quite a sinister edge that I'd never felt the full impact of before, while reading the poem in its entirety. Although, admittedly, I'd never actually paid enough attention to the poem to analyse it. Fighting off the distraction of the poem, I grabbed the parchment from the book, before closing it, and placing it back on the shelf where it had come from.

Slowly I walked back over to my desk as I unfolded the paper, but what I saw written in familiar hand, stopped me frozen in the middle of the room.

 _To My Dearest Father Carlisle,_

 _It is with my deepest regrets and sincerest apologies that I now write you this letter. By now, if all goes to plan, Esme will have mentioned that I dashed off into the forest when she was down by the river, but I doubt she'll think anything of it. I've never come across such a caring and loving mind than that of your Esme's, and that fact makes this all the much worse. I cannot bear to think I am breaking such a gentle heart as yours or hers. But the truth is, I am. I have been for a while now. My unhappy moods have brought you both undue worry and pain, so I feel as though it is perhaps best for all of us that I take some time for myself._

 _I am well aware that a written letter is as shameful as my coward's escape, but I've come to think perhaps, I am the coward I once feared I would be. It is true that I feared had I announced my plans to leave, I would have not left at all. She would never ask it aloud, dearest father, but it would cross her mind to ask me to stay. I could not deny a single whim of that woman, she truly is one of the most wondrous things you have gifted me with in this life. I will also admit I feared my temper may have gotten the best of me should I have announced my plans, but I do not wish to leave the both of you on a bad note such as that._

 _Please do not think that there is anything you could have done better to make me stay, for you have been the best mentor, friend and father I could have ever hoped for. In fact, perhaps, you were too good for me._

 _I write this to you and not to your wife, my most loveable mother, because I know you are able to tell her of my leaving in a gentle way that I could not manage, I know that if there is any chance of some pain being spared that chance does lie with you. If you are correct and our kind have souls, and we are still scheduled for heaven, for breaking her heart I have secured my spot in hell with the devil, I am sure._

 _Tell her I love her, will you? Tell her that she brings out the best in me, please? Tell her that I will think of her every time I see something beautiful, or hear it, or feel it. Tell her that every time I smell a honey suckle, an apricot, a passionfruit, or orange blossom, I will miss her dearly. Tell her that every time I smell a peach, mandarin leaves, osmanthus flowers, or wood, my heart will be with her._

 _The same can be said for you father, every time I see the sun, my thoughts will be with you, every time I smell the fresh air, cinnamon or pear, I will be reminded of the best man that I will ever know, and how lucky I am to call that man my father. You will always be the one I look up to most of all. There is nothing in the world that could ever change such a fact as that._

 _It is true that makes this all the worse, but this is something I must do. I leave you today in hopes of aiding the world in the best way I can, despite it not being the route that would make you proudest of me. I feel this is something I must do, I have seen why you live the way you do, but I am not the same man as you – no matter how many times I may have wished I had such strength, I do not. I beg you not to come after me, I beg you to let me go. This is all I ask. For everything else I could beg of you, you all ready do. I need not insult you by asking you to take care of your wife for she has never been in better care than in the time she has spent with you. I am grateful for that._

 _I have little idea of where I will go first, but I shall write you from Columbus, I know this._

 _Perhaps this is not goodbye forever, father, but this is goodbye for now._

 _I thank you for the kindness you have shown me,_

 _Sincerely,_

 _Edward._

.

.

.

.

"Carlisle?" A distantly familiar sweet voice wondered from far away, "Are you coming outside? Or should I come inside?" … "Carlisle?"

Esme.

A gust of air whirled around me as I took my first breath in … however long it had been. The honey-lilac-and-sun scent burned my nose and the stinging pain spread throughout my entire body as I realised what had happened. Edward was gone.

The cover of a book closed, and Esme murmured my name again, "Carlisle?"

"Sorry love," I murmured in reply, "I'll be out in a moment."

"That's okay," she breathed. I heard to her open her book once more and put her pencil to the paper.

The part of me that worried fro her happiness was entertaining the idea that I could keep Edward's letter from her, and act as though he'd just gone on along hunting trip, but the reality was I'd have to explain it all to her in a few days anyway, and by then it would be worse. My eyes fell back to that heartbreaking parchment, as aching guilt, sadness, and pain pierced through me.

It was a natural reflex for me to think about the son I so dearly loved, and how he was the first member of our family, how he was the end of my loneliness, and now he was gone, but I tried to stop those thoughts as soon as they first crept into my mind because they intensified the daggers that pierced through my marble flesh. I read over his words once again, and couldn't help but try to find a place in my memory when I could have stopped this from happening – it was horrifying to realize that there may have been many.

My breath caught in my throat, and I nearly felt like I could choke. I'd known loneliness and pain before, of course, but the abandonment I felt right then as I stood in the middle of the study was a new kind of anguish.

A new sound broke my grief stricken silence – Esme was humming out by the water. Happily oblivious to the impending pain that I had to inform her of. She was barely getting used to the shock of losing Elsie – she still coked down sobs every time the mail arrived, reminding herself she'd never get another tale from the closest friend she'd ever had.

The coking sensation intensified, as the walls seemed to come closer and pin me in.

"What's the time?" I wondered mostly to myself, trying to take my mind off the claustrophobic feeling.

"Just after one," Esme's cheery voice came from outside by the river still, "Don't you have a clock?" She teased.

Her high spirits continued to brake my heart even more – this was worse than that unexpected death, because I had to tell _my wife_ that _our son_ was gone… and I had no idea when he was coming back.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, hoping it would calm me like it did humans, but my efforts were futile. I still felt as overwhelmed as I had before. The sensible side of my brain had decided that I had to tell Esme straight away, and so my legs were walking out of the study and towards the front door before I could change my mind.

Esme still hummed by the river on the roots of the tree as I slowly walked down the stairs, Edward's letter rustling slightly in the gentle late winter breeze. I had to consciously focus on breathing steadily like I had centuries ago when I was just young. It was odd to feel so out of control, so emotional, so… venerable.

Every step I took toward her was harder than the last, and all though I managed to steadily breathe, I failed miserably at swallowing, for the choking feeling still closed up my throat.

As I came within feet of my oblivious wife, she looked up expectantly with a small smile, which immediately dropped off her face as soon as she caught sight of my expression. She was on her feet in the next instant; her sketchbook and pencils lay abandoned and discarded on the roots. Her hand was on my cheek and her worried golden eyes were searching mine.

"Carlisle, what's wrong? What's happened?" She wondered in a quiet voice.

I didn't quite know how to tell her softly, so without thinking a great deal about it, I handed her the letter, ready to hold her as she wept, holding back the sobs myself. She eyed me with a quizzical gaze before her golden orbs fell on the words that adorned the paper. It was obvious from the light in her eyes that she recognised the penmanship as Edward's, but her brow soon furrowed as she read the first few words. She shook her head throughout the first paragraph, still reading the words with confusion, but as soon as she reached the second paragraph, her knitted brow relaxed, and fear crept into her eyes.

"No," she breathed, halfway through, "No, please. No."

Her chest started heaving up and down as I reached up to place a gentle hand on her shoulder – a doctor's reflex, I tell you. She looked up to me with those doe eyes so wide with a mix of heartbreak and denial, a mix I'd seen before so many times.

She shook her head, and tried to hand the letter back to me, "No. He's just going through a phase… he doesn't mean this." Her voice quivered and wavered with weakness.

"Esme," I breathed, torn between showing her my pain like a husband would, and counselling her through it like a doctor should. "He's –"

" _Don't_ ," she said definitely, her voice with an edge of hysteria to it, "Tell me that my son is gone. _Don't_."

"Esme, I'm sorry."

"No," her pitch was high, as she recoiled from me slightly, her breathing stopped, and the light in her eyes drained away like the expression upon her face, "He can't be gone."

Every kind morsel in my body was telling me just to wrap her in a hug and hold her as she stood there stunned or sobbed or whatever she was about to do, but I knew I had to tell her the truth hard and fast. It was just like delivering the news of death. There was no soft and easy here, she'd be in less pain if she accepted the truth.

"Esme," I said in a low but strong tone as my own heart ached with pain, "Edward is gone."

Her broken eyes bore into mine, hurting me even more. I couldn't bear to see her pain any longer, nor bear the thought of her seeing me break down, so I pulled her to my chest and held on to her for dear life. There was a moment of silence, and a moment of stillness before her body began to shake and convulse with sobs.

"No," she wept, " _No_."

I buried my head in her hair and tried to clear my mind of every single thought that tried to enter it. I wasn't an insecure person by any means, all though I had many moments in my newborn years contemplating how disappointed my father was of me, I came to the resolve that personalities were different, and had I had a father who'd shared the same values as I, I'd no doubt that he'd be prouder than my real father, so it was not usual for me to feel as though I'd disappointed my father. But in that moment, not only did I feel as though I'd disappointed my father, I also felt as though I'd disappointed Edward.

"He came out to say goodbye…" she managed between sobs, "And… he told me he loved me…" her words became a wail, "And… he kissed me on the cheek…" she hiccupped twice, "And… he even called me _mom_!"

I held her tightly, resisting the urge to sob into her hair as she continued to wail, sob and whimper into my chest.

I would have traded that moment with a thousand unexpected deaths. I once thought telling those families that their loved ones were suddenly gone was much worse than anything I'd ever done, but I had only known one side of that situation. Just as Esme had known the other. Now I knew both, I realised that I'd always rather be the doctor. Telling a family they'd lost a member was hard, but hearing it was harder.

Even though Edward wasn't dead… he was still gone. Gone because he did not agree with the life I lived, his note about Columbus told me as much. I knew Esme knew why he was visiting her hometown, and I would do better than denying it to myself. He'd gone to kill Charles.

Esme's sobs distracted me from that fact however, and stopped me from stewing on it. I remembered I had to remain strong for her, and so I buried my head deeper in her hair and held her until the night fell.

But with every moment that passed it grew harder, because the reality grew stronger. Edward, my Edward, my once sole companion, dearest friend, only confidant – had left me. I couldn't breathe. In the darkness that surrounded my wife and I, as we stood by the river and the tree roots alone, I drowned in misery.

In the following hours we'd pull apart, we'd look each other in the eye, and we'd silently promise ourselves to be strong for the other. Not to let the pain break our resolve. Not to let the other one see the misery.

I would realise later – much later, months, even years later – through eyes clear with hindsight that that's when we made our very first mistake – we both had problems, we both had demons… and we kept them separate.

* * *

 _A.N. Well, uh, that was a bit rough... let's start with good news! I was going to post this on the 26th, partly because that gave me enough time to finish it, and partly because I posted chapter 1 of Faith & Love on the 26th March 2015, (and I though last year we gained a family member, so this year we lose one, and that's kind of poetic...) but because I got some cool news the other night, I decided to post it early! _

_For the cool news: **Faith & Love has been nominated in the 'Best Canon' section of the 'Non-Canon Awards'! **(Thank you to whomever nominated me, you rock!) **So, if you loved Faith & Love, and want to vote pop over to **_thenoncanonawards . wordpress vote / (without the spaces, of course) **_and vote away! Voting closes on the 25th, and its open now!_** _I'm not sure how many times you can vote, but try as many as you like!_

 _So, good news with a sad chapter, funny mix there. I hope you guys enjoyed this one. I know it was pretty medical scene up the top and what not, and with all the OC's, but there is a reason why I'm showing more of C &E's outside of the family life now, and hopefully that reason will become clear later on, if I write it right... Or I'll tell you later on. And the OC's do play a part in the family's future. There's a couple you'll have to watch out for, I'm gonna sneak them in here, there, and everywhere ;)_

 _Now, I know some of you are wondering how this is going to work out. Am I going to follow Edward or Carlisle and Esme? And the answer is both. We'll catch up with Edward here and there, I'm not sure how often I'll put in an Edward chapter, I have enough ideas to have one nearly every second chapter, so it would go like, Carlisle's POV, Edward's POV, Esme's POV, Edward's POV, Carlisle's POV etc etc, but I'm going to see how it goes and what you guys like. If you like what's happening with Edward then I'll stick with that revolving POV, but if we want more Carlisle and Esme I'll cut some Edward out, or make some Edward chapters shorter (which, I think they'll probably end up being shorter anyway). So you'll have to tell me what you're liking and not liking in your reviews, if you feel passionate enough ;)_

 _That's another thing, out of curiosity, do you prefer longer chapters like this one? Or shorter ones? (I don't mind writing either one, I don't really plan word limit, I just go where the fingers take me! LOL). I'd love to hear your answer in a review too! Looking forward to it! Thanks to all of you who reviewed last time! (And sorry for the late update - totally my fault for taking on more work than I can handle. I'll never learn!) Much love x_


	7. On The Prowl

_Chapter Seven: On The Prowl_

 _Columbus, Ohio, 1927_

 _Edward_

I watched the city of Columbus, Ohio bustle with life as I sat in the shade of a green coloured façade outside a café, pretending to sip a cup of tea that sat on the table in front of me. I watched the passerby's as they went on with their daily lives distracted from their thoughts by the feeling of freedom what blew in my face with the soft breeze. After my long time deciding my future path, it was liberating to finally put it into action. Columbus was harder to find that I had initially thought it would be, but with aid of a map that I'd kept in a bag hidden a few miles from the house, I managed to navigate my way through the forests, always keeping near the main roads.

I gained a newfound appreciation for my creator, having always taken for granted his impeccable sense of direction and thoughtful planning. The hours I had spent out on my own had shown me just how reliant I'd come to be on him. It was due time I became reliant only on myself.

At the café, I was biding my time until the clouds covered the sun, which streamed down and coated the street in rays that would send my crystal-like skin into a sparking mess. All though the smell of the tea I was pretending to sip was more putrid than stale deer's blood, I didn't much fancy lingering around in shadows like a fiend, so I chose the lesser of two evils – boiled leaves.

A few women walked by with wide smiles and flirtatious expressions, but I didn't pay them much attention, partly because I wasn't interested in them, and partly because I knew what activity the following days would see me doing, and those silly women should not want the attention of a vampire. I picked my teacup up, and brought it to my lips, pretending to take a sip, acting normal for the eyes that were watching me through the glass of the café. After gently placing it back on the saucer after not consuming any of it at all, I reached down to the backpack that was resting at my feet.

I flicked open the flap of the dark brown bag, and pulled out a thick phonebook and a map of the town. I had little idea of where I would find Charles Evenson. There were only few things that I knew about him from Esme's memories and my own investigations. I knew when he married Esme he was quite a bit older than her, he was tall, but not as tall as myself, and he was strong, but not as strong as Carlisle would have been as a human. From my brief encounter with him in New York I knew his voice, both mental and physical, was plain and unremarkable, so much so, I could not be comfortable pulling it out of a crowd. His physical appearance, all though always covered in darkness in the haze of Esme's human memories, was plain. It was not a great deal to go on at all. And that left me with the smallest snippets of insignificant details. He always sat in the living room, and he liked to drink alcohol. He liked to play football, until his hip was badly injured during a match in the war. He'd never let Esme read any books, all though he'd allow his friend's wives to give them to her. He liked a particular brand of tea from a neighbouring town and would never be happy unless Esme provided that for him. He was the manager of a small business in town. His father was friends with Esme's father, all though I had little idea how they knew each other. I knew few names of close friends, Michael, Andrew, John, Darlene, Lola, and Richard. He liked his steak rare, and he hated chicken. Like most of the population, he had brown eyes. He had probably remarried, and he might even be a father. His hair was short, all though I wasn't sure of the colour. He was evil. That was about it.

So, despite having all that unhelpful knowledge, I had no idea where Charles Evenson would be. Nor did I have any idea as to where I should begin my search for him, I only had options.

I placed the thick phonebook on the table, and leafed through the pages until I found the section for last names beginning with _E_. There were far more possible candidates than I would have liked, and even possibly more that were unlisted. In a city with a population of around two hundred and fifty thousand people, I expected the result I got, so I narrowed my pool of possible candidates – or should I say, suspects – by geographical likeliness. Those who lived nearest the central business district made their way onto my list, which happened to comprise of seven people in the end. There was one _Charles Evenson_ , three _C. Evenson_ 's, two _Charles E._ 's, and one _C.E_. all scattered throughout the city. I memorized each of their addresses, and located each on the map, still unsure of what my next steps may be. I momentarily toyed with the idea of telephoning each and every one of my possible candidates and questioning them about their lives, I quickly decided against it, for it would be considered too strange.

That left me with a single idea as to where I should begin: stalking.

I shut the phonebook carelessly with a thump, and slotted back into my bag, before I pretended to take another sip of the horrid contaminated water that humans called tea. I looked out to the street, glad to see that the sun had hidden beneath the cloud cover making it safe for me to continue meandering town. All though I much preferred to begin my investigation at night, so not to arouse suspicion while lingering in front of strangers houses, I'd nothing better to do, so I left a tip on the table with my full cup of tea, and gracefully rose, slinging the backpack over my shoulder and navigating my way into the crowds that wandered down the sidewalk, every bit aware of the ogling eyes from inside the little café that watched me walk away.

Columbus was a pretty city, the parks around the river were lovely for long days spent mulling around like a few gaggles of young women did, and perhaps if I had been without a thing to do, I would have found a nice shady spot by the riverbank to watch the world go by, or read a book. I wasn't much in the mood for singing birds and rushing water, however; I was in the mood for discoveries. So I followed the map in my mind, taking shortcuts down alleyways, or lingering in the shade of brightly coloured facades every time the sun's rays burst through the wispy white clouds.

I whistled quietly to myself sometimes when human's eyes lingered for far too long, pretending to be an adolescent wanderer or runaway or something of the sort, until the curiosity in their minds twisted into a resolve upon them deciding what my story was for me. That was something I'd never been able to understand about the human race, how they all seemed to believe they were so qualified to concoct another's life story without even uttering a greeting first. Be that as it may, it worked in my favour on most occasions.

As I reached the streets of the suburbs, the crowds thinned, bringing me a reprieve and some peace from the loud noises. It did not, however, bring any peace for me when I located the houses my subjects lived in a realised that I could only rule two suspects off my list, bringing it down to four. The first obvious no, was _Charles E_ who turned out to be Charles Earl, a rich retiree living in a brown stone mansion on the outskirts of town. The second was the _C.E_ whose real name was Collin East, an unemployed man living in a fourth floor apartment who seemed to think he ran a home-based charity for stray cats with his mother. The remaining four lived in four different neighbourhoods, but had very similar, red brick, single-family homes on nice streets with well-kept lawns. Their houses were empty, aside from one in Old Oaks, where a woman was making apple pie, not thinking about much aside from food. All though I lingered, she moved on to fretting over her beef stew. That was the home of the only _Charles Evenson_ listed in the phonebook.

I was a little disappointed as I made my way back downtown, but I'd decided to continue my stalking efforts during the night, and I figured I might as well use the remaining hours of daylight to run a few errands. It had occurred to me while on my way to the Northern suburbs of town, Harrison West and Victorian Village, that once I'd fulfilled my goal in Columbus, it would be difficult for me to walk down the streets during the day because of my eyes. All though people all ready stared as me as much as they would eye a celebrity, scarlet eyes would be highly unsettling. It was then that I wandered past a magazine with a drawing of some film star on it, wearing some spectacles they called 'sunglasses,' and I knew I had to invest in a pair. If people all ready gazed at me as though I was in show business, I'd may as well take it for what it was worth, and look the part – it was a win win situation. The problem would be finding such an uncommon item.

The afternoon sun still tried to break through the cloud cover as I searched the shop windows for any sign of the items I desired. I wandered in the chatting crowds nearly inconspicuously, almost as if I was one of them, but I could not deny the dull burning in my throat telling me soon I would need to find my target, or retreat to the forests for another unpleasant hunting experience. Luckily, I found some sunglasses before the shops closed, and all though they cost me an arm and a leg, unless I broke them, they would be a valuable tool for me. I also got myself a new hat, hoping that my mysterious appearance would detract from the attraction that humans seemed to feel toward vampires.

As the clock neared five, the sun sunk lower in the sky, and the crowds began to thin before closing time, I made my way down a quiet little street of small stores, feeling the slightest pang of loneliness. In the six years that hat passed since Esme joined our family I had rarely been out in town around the stores at such a late hour without her arm wrapped in mine and her quiet mental voice in my mind delightfully thinking about returning home to Carlisle. I missed her all ready. But then, maybe it wasn't because of the feeling of the day winding down, but rather because I eyed in the glass window of a little bookstore across the street, sitting underneath the golden letters _Little Darling's Bookshop,_ the complete collection of Sherlock Holmes stories, and Esme had been waiting for such a collection to be published for years. She had every single story; all in separate issues of _The Strand,_ sitting in her room back home... I mean, back at her home in Cambridge, the place that was no longer my home.

On a whim, I ducked across the street to gaze at the book in the window, thinking about how I'd promised them I'd write from Columbus in the note I left. I'd spent a great deal of time thinking about what I would put in the letter that I promised to send, but I'd yet to come up with anything that would convey my message without causing too much hurt. Perhaps sending that book would be enough for them to know I was in Esme's hometown, without explicitly saying _It's done. You're free. You never have to worry about him again._ I stared at the thick leather volume for a short while, before deciding that it might just be the right idea, and quickly ducking up the steps toward the door before the shop could close.

A little bell rang out as I entered the quiet store, and quiet voices reached their way into my mind. The bookstore seemed to have quite the few late shoppers in amongst its tall bookshelves. An elderly couple stood nearby the door murmuring over a recipe book, while someone with a British accent in the back was talking about when he purchased the store and whom he named it after, but other than that, the store was silent. The few customers by the door looked my way to see who the new intruder was, but they soon smiled and turned back to their books, as I quietly wandered over to the stand by the window.

When I reached the display, I smiled down at the book, gathering its smooth cover into my marble hands. I leafed through the pages, checking to see if all of the stories were in there, I was surprised to see that they were not.

"Volume two comes out later this year," a friendly voice murmured from behind me. I turned around briefly to smile slightly at the middle-aged shopkeeper as I nodded.

"Thank you," I murmured, flicking back to the contents to see if Esme's favourite was in there.

"Do you need help with anything?" The man wondered again, as I saw Esme's favourite was lacking from the page.

"Will there be any more than two volumes?" I wondered, looking back at the man with light brown hair, which was thinning in the middle.

He smiled and shook his head, as wrinkles appeared by the corners of his brown eyes, "No. Just the two."

"Thank you," I smiled back, before turning back to the book in my hands, and closing the cover. I ran my fingertips over the words as I contemplated wether or not I should purchase the book.

"Of course, I'm happy to help." The shopkeeper murmured, "Call out if you need anything else." He turned around a shuffled away, depending on his left leg a little more than his right, as I placed the book back down on the display. Deciding to decide later.

With a sigh, I turned back around and exited the shop. Eyeing the book longingly as I continued down the street, not quite sure where I was going. I wandered for a little while longer, before finding a nice patch of shade underneath a tree by the river as the sun burst through the cloud cover once more, as it set.

Twilight came slowly, but it lingered for a while as I remained beneath the tree by the lake. By the time that dusk set in, the city was quiet, and with the threat of the sun gone for hours on end it was time to start my nightly rotation. I soundlessly jumped up from my spot beneath the tree in the empty park, swung my backpack onto my back, and dashed to the nearest building. It was the cliche three-story brick building that most of the small stores were, and I scaled it easily. Heaving myself up onto the roof, I took a moment to look around the city from my new vantage, there were buildings that were taller than the one I was, but I still got a good view of the cityscape. It was beautiful. I allowed myself a little grin and the feeling of liberation I experienced standing on that roof, I was finally doing something with my time that would help. With that thought, and no further ado, I sprinted off across the roof jumping from one building to another, until I reached the first neighbourhood of homes.

The first house I stopped at was in Old Oaks – the home of _Charles Evenson_ , where a woman made beef stew for dinner. The female was busy finishing her apple pie for dessert in the kitchen while a male was reading the newspaper in the living room. The woman was worried that her pie wouldn't taste very nice, while the man wondered what was taking so long. There was impatience in his mind, but I could not detect any edge of anger. I listened until the food was served, and even though the man didn't like it, he told her that it was nice. That didn't seem a great deal like Charles, but I couldn't rule it out.

My next stop was the house in Near East. The inhabitants were struggling to get their children to bed. The man was yelling at his son, as his wife tried to catch the daughter who was running around the dining table. From my perch on the neighbour's roof I fervently hoped that this was not Charles Evenson, because I didn't like the thought of leaving children fatherless. But when the man hit his son, and the woman cried out hysterically, "Charles, please don't!" I realised that the children may be better off without him. But before I jumped to any conclusions, I tried to figure out the ages of their children. It'd only been around seven years since Esme left, so the children would have to be around or under six years old. They got them to bed successfully, and no drama ensued afterward, so I moved on to my next house.

In Victorian Village the inhabitants were asleep. One was dreaming about shoes, and the other's mind was a mess of colours. I couldn't quite pick out who was the husband, and who was the wife, I left quickly, for there was nothing interesting for me to see.

I left for Harrison West next, but all was quiet, only a female was home, sitting in a chair upstairs, knitting. I lingered for a while, but no one returned home, so I began my circuit once more, over in Old Oaks.

I circled around for hours, spending the whole night on neighbours' rooftops listening to the dreams of the inhabitants. _C. Evenson_ from Harrison West arrived home sometime between midnight and four-am while I was visiting the others. He was sound asleep dreaming dreamless dreams when I arrived back at his house, and his wife's dreams about hats a mittens gave me no insights into their relationship at all.

I left their house at quarter-past four, briefly stopping by the place in Old Oaks, which was still quiet, before heading to Near East where I came to my first revelation of the entire night.

The Charles that hit his son, who happened to be seven years old, was not the Charles Evenson that I was searching for. In fact, his name was Charles Everton and he worked in a factory, from five in the morning until seven at night. I caught him right at he was leaving his house at four-thirty and followed him all the way to work, where he was greeted by his colleagues as they entered the imposing building.

I sighed exasperatedly as they called him "Mr. Everton," for he was my prime suspect. Pinching the bridge of my nose, feeling like I'd never be able to find the man I was looking for, I headed back to the next stop on my circle, in Victorian Village. I remained on my rotation for the rest of the dark hours of the early morning, letting my frustration eat away at me. I stayed a little too long at the house in Old Oaks, who were early risers, so much so, that I missed both the suspects from Harrison West and Victorian Village leaving in the morning. I did catch the man from Old Oaks, who looked to be in his thirties, as he left for work. I followed him into town and lingered in an alley near the candle shop that he unlocked and went into.

When the clock struck nine o'clock, he turned the little notice in the doorway from 'closed' to 'open' and so I walked on in. There was nothing different about the storefront from any of the other stores down the small street. It had a glass window with the store's name written in gold writing upon it, and a display showing the products to the outside world. It did smell quite nice as I walked in, however, albeit a little overpowering. The little bell above the door chimed, and I heard someone stand from out the back, making their way to the front room.

I looked around as I entered the small, square store, to see that every wall was lined with candles, candlesticks and candleholders. I had always thought that candles were going out of use thanks to electricity but the few moments I spent in that store told me something completely different. It was a little eccentric with all of its colours and all of its smells but it was the kind of store I could imagine Esme falling in love with. For that reason, among others, I did hope Charles didn't work here.

The footsteps made it to the front room, and I tore my eyes away from display to see the man whom I might soon kill. He was tall; nearly my height, with a medium build and curious brown eyes. His hair was a very dark shade of brown, and he definitely looked to be in his thirties. Was that too young for Charles?

"Hello," he smiled, "Welcome to _The Candle Shop_. Is there anything in particular that I can help you with today?" His voice was nondescript, ordinary, plain, and his thoughts gave nothing away, he was only taking in my unusual appearance.

"I'm just looking for something in particular," I replied.

"And what is that?" He wondered, shuffling around the counter to come closer to me.

Before I left home, Carlisle had taken to reading a lot of those psychology journals, and during my being obsessed with his thoughts I picked up a lot of what he was reading. All though some of it made very little sense, and was not at all what I had experienced from reading the human mind, there were a few things that I agreed with. Such as, the ease of which one can manipulate the human consciousness. With a private devious smile, I decided to test out some of my theories on the suspect that stood before me.

"I was looking for something special for my wife," I murmured, placing emphasis on the last word.

For a brief second, his mind flashed to a picture of a woman smiling back at him. She was middle-aged with blonde hair and blue eyes. I assumed that this was his wife.

"A yes, something romantic? We have the classic bayberry candles over here," he directed me to a corner where red candles stood proudly.

"I wanted something less traditional. She grew up on a farm, so she's very accustomed to traditional things." I watched his mind carefully as I mentioned her growing up on a farm, but there were no bells of recognition. He didn't associate any memories of farm life with his wife.

"Hmmm," he murmured, looking around, "Perhaps some of our own handmade candles over here?" He wandered over to another display with cream coloured candles, "We squeeze lemon juice in with the wax when we make them, so they smell a little like lemons." He held one up and offered it to me, so I took it with a smile, and brought it up to my nose. Of course, I could all ready smell the lemon from far away, but I assumed it would be faint for a human.

Remembering an insignificant detail about Charles, I murmured, "It smells like that special tea from a nearby town."

He did not think of any special tea as I assumed Charles would have, so I was beginning to think that this was not the man I was looking for.

"I think she'll like this," I murmured, "Do you have any other flavours?"

He nodded, with a small smile and led me over to another display. I picked up a candle and sniffed it, then grimaced.

"This reminds me of the war. We used to play football near bushes like these." I watched his mind carefully, but with the memory that came, of a young English woman with a disgusted expression upon her face shoving a white feather into his hand, I concluded that this was not Charles Evenson. "I think she'll like it though. In fact, I'll take one of each of your handmade candles."

The man looked surprised, but slowly a bright grin spread across his face.

"Of course! Of course!" He was sent into some kind of flurry as he hurried around the shop grabbing candles from nearly every display and placing them on the counter. I watched on dubiously wondering if I was going to have enough room in my backpack for all of them.

He saw me eyeing him curiously as he came to a stop behind the counter, panting slightly. His face grew flushed, and the delicious aroma of human blood finally overcame the confusing aroma of the candles. I was very nearly taken by the haze of bloodlust, as I realised just how thirsty I'd let myself become.

"I do apologise, sir." He laughed, bringing me out of my trance, "As you can imagine, candle making isn't the most lucrative business now that the _electrics_ ," he said the word with great distain, "Have come in. You have quite made my day with your order."

I gave him a tight smile and cautiously walked forward, nodding, "Happy to help."

He began wrapping the candles after he tallied up the price and I payed, but I could tell I had no hope of fitting them all in my all ready full backpack.

"I say…What was your name again?" I wondered with a smile.

"Mr. Evenson," he replied in the same friendly manner, holding out his hand for me to shake, "Charlie Evenson."

"Is that a nickname?" I wondered with a grin.

He laughed, but shook his head, "No. I'm just Charlie."

"Oh, fair enough. Would you be able to do me quite the favour?" I wondered, grabbing the phonebook from my backpack, "I can't seem to be able to rid myself of this phonebook. Could you dispose of it for me?"

All though he considered my question to be quite odd, he nodded with a smile and took it for me, "Of course. Young chap. Now, here you are," he slid the candles toward me, and I began packing them neatly into my now nearly empty bag, "I hope your young wife enjoys them."

I returned his smile, and closed the bag, swinging it back on my back, I said, "Thanks Charlie," and then headed out the door. My little list, down to two, my backpack filled with things for Esme. All though I had not found Charles, I had succeeded in confirming my suspicions: Minds are, for the most part, painfully predictable places. I had also decided that considering I purchased all the candles for my mother, I'd may as well buy her the book I'd seen the day before also.

So off I headed toward the bookshop I remembered to be a few streets away.

It was by a stroke of sheer dumb luck – or maybe fate again – that I came across the thing that I had been looking for. I happened to be walking down the street in a loud crowd, not listening to anyone's mind in particular, when a highly familiar name came into my mind in a female's voice, … _Charles Evenson. I don't understand why he had to do that. He'll lose his job, I swear._ I listened intently to the woman's voice, and followed it as best I could, listening as I got louder with every step I took, until I was standing outside another little store, named _John's Shoes._

I looked through the window of the store, where there seemed to be a lot of shoes around the walls. I walked up the stairs and welcomed myself in, slightly irritated by the chiming bells that seemed to be in every single store.

Light, and quick footsteps made their way to the front room, as I looked around at all the shiny shoes. The sound of footsteps stopped, as the owner of the feet reached the doorway. I looked up to see a young lady, whose eyes widened considerably when she saw me, and then she grinned as she walked forward toward me.

"Welcome to John's shoes, how may I help you?" She wondered.

When my eyes caught hers she blushed, sending the most delectable aroma through the air, it took every once of control that I had worked for over the past nine years, not to pounce on her right then. I fought through the haze of bloodlust that nearly had me staggering on the spot, just so I could reply. I knew I was thirsty, but I didn't think I was _that_ thirsty.

The woman came closer and I tried not to breathe.

"I was wondering if I could speak to the manager?" I murmured using up a great deal of my air supply.

"Oh uh, well, my family owns this place, so you can talk to me." She grinned; I'd learned many years ago, that using a woman's name while trying to manipulate her into divulging information was a very good method, so I stole a quick glance at her nametag, which read _M. James_ , not giving me much information to use when trying to get information.

"I was actually looking for someone in particular," I replied, deciding to just ask for Charles outright.

Her smile dropped slightly, making her look a little crestfallen, "And who is that?"

"Charles Evenson."

She sighed, her mind formed a picture of her employee and she nodded, "Of course."

 _What has he done now?_ She wondered, "I'll get him for you."

She disappeared off into the back, and I waited with anxious anticipation for him to arrive. This could be the moment I'd been waiting for.

"Charles, there's a man out there who wants to see you."

"Who is he?" a plain voice wondered back, sounding a little grumpy.

"I don't know. Never seen him before. Just go, okay? John wants higher sales, and you're the manager so you've got to set a good example."

Charles sighed, "Sure."

There was a quiet scuffle as he stood up from the chair he was sitting on, and headed out toward the store. I held my breath as his footsteps neared.

In the doorway appeared a middle-aged plain looking man with brown eyes and brown hair. He was shorter than me, and bigger also, but not by much. He gave me a faint smile when he saw me, but I got the impression from his face and his thoughts that he wasn't too happy to be there.

"Hello, how can I help you?" He wondered.

I decided I'd play the mind games again, "Hello, my name is Edmund Platt."

His mind was blank, flickering with no recognition at Esme's maiden name. My hopes dropped a little, "I was here for some shoes. For my wedding."

He nodded, expressionless; his mind did not bring up any memory of a wedding when I lingered on the word. "Sure. Black?"

I shrugged, "Is black best? What did you wear on your wedding day?"

His mind was still void of any memories as I probed, "Black."

He walked over to the black shoes and stared at me expectantly, "So, you want black?"

Fighting a growl at the frustration he was causing me, I nodded, "Black is good."

I continued to try and manipulate memories out of him as he showed me shoes, but to no avail. He was a grumpy man who thought of nothing but the seat waiting for him out back.

At one point the door swung open, and a woman waltzed in. "Hey, Darl?" She called out in a southern accent, while Charles showed me shoes, "Where are you?" Her eyes flickered to me, and then to Charles, "Oh, hello Charles."

He flicked her a small, insincere smile, "Hello Lola. How are you?" He didn't seem to like this lady much at all, _Here's Mrs. Scrooge again,_ he thought to himself.

She nodded dismissively, "Good." She turned back toward the door to the back room, "Darl, where are you?"

"I'm out here, Lola!" The young woman from earlier called back. Lola walked on through the doorway and disappeared out back, leaving me thinking about the list of names I knew belonged to Charles' friends.

"How about these?" Charles wondered, holding up a fancy pair of shoes, distracting me. My mind tricks weren't working on him, and the situation was making me feel uncomfortable, so I nodded.

"They look great, I'll take them."

 _Won't try them on? Oh well._ "Sure," he murmured, "I'll ring them up."

I got nothing more from him as I paid, so I left the store with shoes I had no need for and only more suspicions about Charles, no solid facts.

On the way to the bookstore to get Esme's final gift, I decided that I would have to resort to drastic measures to find out which Charles was the Charles I wanted... I would have to go and visit the wives.

I was dangerously thirsty and emotionally tired by the time I got to the bookstore.

As the bell signalled my entrance to the store, quiet, even footsteps made their way from the back room to the room where I was. By the time the shop attendant had reached the main store, I'd all ready grabbed a copy of the book, and was headed to the counter, desperate to get out of the divine smelling small store. The man who greeted me was not the same one from the other day, he was much better looking with ash blonde hair, and grey eyes, and yet he looked oddly familiar. I faintly recalled seeing him out the back of the store last time I visited, but I had been too preoccupied thinking about the books to be worried about the workers in the shop.

"Hello," he grinned, speaking in a thick British accent, "How are you today?"

"I'm very well, thank you," I replied cordially, "And yourself?"

"Never better," he grinned, "Just the one book today?" He wondered, eyeing the leather bound volume in my hands.

"Yes please," I murmured, placing it on the counter, and swinging my bag off my shoulder.

"Of course," he slid the book closer to himself, before grabbing some brown paper to wrap it in. After it was wrapped, he grabbed a pen, and looked up expectantly at me.

"And what was your name?" He wondered.

Slightly stunned by his question, being unprepared for such an enquiry, I subtly looked around the room for any suggestions. Out the corner of my eye a familiar title caught my attention, and privately grinning to myself at the irony, I replied back, "Mr. Stoker."

He grinned, "Thanks Mr. Stoker," he said writing my name down, "I'm Jack, by the way."

I returned his smile and nodded, pulling out my wallet to find he right amount of money for the book. After the transaction was processed, he handed me the book, wrapped in brown paper with the words, _Thank you for shopping at Little Darling's Bookstore, Mr. Stoker_ written atop.

I smiled down at the kind touch before slipping the parcel into my backpack, and looking up at Jack, "I say, where is the nearest post office?" I wondered, my throat burning.

He pictured a small store two streets away, "Just left out the door and take the street on your second right. You'll see it if you stay on the right hand side of the road."

"Thank you very much," I smiled.

"You are very welcome, Mr. Stoker. Have a lovely day," I nodded as he bid me farewell.

I headed for the door, silently thanking the copy of _Dracula_ that sat at the front of a bookshelf near the counter for the name inspiration, as the shop keeper turned around murmuring to himself, "Post office, that reminds me…" he headed out to the back room, calling out to someone, "Darling, did you sort through that new shipment of _Being and Time_?"

"Chuck's doing it," a female's voice called out in reply, as the little bell rang when I left the store.

The air would have been brisk to humans, but it was warm to me as I turned to the left and headed for the post office. I purchased a big box to put the candles and the book in for Esme, and then posted it off to Massachusetts, unsure of when it would arrive. Then, I headed off back out to Harrison West, to see if I could piece together my puzzle any more. As it would seem, I was in a great deal of luck.

I chose to visit the house in Harrison West first, and unlike the day before, the house was occupied. A woman mulled around in the kitchen, wondering to herself what she was going to have for lunch. I had stowed my bag in a trashcan down an alley, and made sure to wear my new shoes. I walked down the pretty street with perfect lawns and nicely pruned trees with distinction, a sense of purpose; a sense of officialdom.

At number fourteen, I took a brief pause, glancing carefully at the two-storey red brick house, before slowly walking up the path that led to the front door. It was painted black, and made out of some nice wood, which I quickly knocked upon.

The woman inside was surprised at the visitor, but rushed to the door filled with worry. She opened the door quickly, and I got my first sight at Mrs. Evenson. She was a slight woman with a nervous disposition, a little too much powder on her face and excessively warm clothes for the temperature that day. Her top covered the entirety of her neck, and her sleeves reached down to cover her hands. Her hair was done perfectly, and yet it seemed messy, perhaps it was her shaky temperament that made it seem so.

"Hello there," I gave her my very best smile, in hopes of putting her somewhat at ease, "My name is Mr. Stoker. I'm a private detective working with the De Ville Agency. I was wondering if you would be able to tell me if a Mr. Charles Evenson lives here?"

She blinked once, but the moment I said his name, she thought of him. He was definitely a man I had met since arriving in Columbus – brown hair, brown eyes, small smile. Then her mind burst with fear, suspicion, and worry. "Yes, he does," she breathed.

I smiled, carefully watching the dark figure in her mind, "And who are you to him?"

"His wife," her voice was a little more confident that time.

I wasn't surprised, but I acted it, "His _wife_? Hmm, interesting." Her eyebrows lifted slightly as I spoke, "Would you happen to know where Mr. Evenson currently is?"

She eyed me with suspicion, "At work."

"And where is this work place?" I inquired, sensing her caution would keep her from answering my queries.

"Why are you asking me these questions?" She asked, with narrowed eyes.

I could see she wasn't going to get any more out of her until I answered her question, so I gave her the best answer I could, "I'm investigating a murder, ma'am."

She was taken aback; she straightened up, her eyes widened, and she stepped backward, "A murder? Of whom?"

I watched her curiously, "Mr. Evenson's first wife, Mrs. Evenson."

Her eyebrows pulled together in something akin to offence, "First wife? First wife? What are you talking about?"

I cocked my head to the side, "You are unaware your husband was previously married? Has he ever discussed his marital history with you?"

"No," she shook her head, "But… Murdered? By who?"

"That is what we're trying to find out, ma'am," I smiled.

"And you think Charles can help you?" She wondered, her questions quick, "You think he may have witnessed it?"

"Oh, no ma'am. We think he may have _done_ it. He's our prime suspect. Is there anything you've witnessed or experienced during your marriage that may suggest our suspicions could be correct?"

Her breathing halted for just a moment as she ran through a myriad of memories of a dark figure coming closer to her. Her mind was filled with fear and dread as the figure approached, but she blocked the memories out before the pain began. I stopped a little satisfied smile from spreading on my face, as my body filled with glory and anger, all the while, her mind raced. _I have to get out of here,_ she thought, _I can't let… murder._

"Oh my goodness!" She exclaimed suddenly, "I have to go. I've just remembered, I have a cousin getting married in Florida next week, and I have to get there!" She stepped backwards and began to close the door. I placed my foot on the threshold so it wouldn't shut.

"Mrs. Evenson!" I exclaimed, halting her.

She eyed me with speculation, before divulging some important information, "He works for John, a friend of his, if you really must know. John and Darlene."

I smiled – I knew that name; Esme had mentioned her once before… it had something to do with _A Christmas Carol._

"He gets home at twelve thirty for his lunch break, so I really must go. It was good to talk to you, and Mr. Stoker…" she paused, "Thank you," she breathed before shutting the door in my face.

I didn't even get a chance to say thank you in return. I backed away down the steps feeling a little staggered. I half-by wished I could have talked to her longer to be more prepared. She went before I wanted her to go, but she'd all ready given me exactly what I needed.

I knew exactly who Charles Evenson was.

*.*.*

Misty rain fell down before me, as I lingered in the only dry spot down the long dark alleyway, just waiting. I listened to the dripping of some thicker water droplets from the spouting up above me somewhere and the little mice as they scampered around, trying to understand why they were feeling frightened. The sky was star-less, and moon-less and cloudy. To a human, it would have been cold, but to me, it was just right. I'd been standing in the one spot for a few hours, waiting for the only occupant of the store a few shops down to wrap up whatever he was doing and head home. It almost seemed as though he never would, persisting to bang heavy objects around methodically, but I refused to lose hope. And soon, I was rewarded. The banging stopped, and I heard uneven footsteps shuffle around on the hardwood floor for a short while, before they headed for the door. A little bell ran as he exited, and the footsteps made their way down the stairs from the store, and started along the sidewalk. I listened with rapture as they neared, and as soon as they came close enough, I stepped into the light, and purposefully kicked some rubbish tins into a walk. And then, at the mouth of the dark, and damp little alley where I lingered, a silhouette appeared underneath the city light. His face was obscured by the shadow of his hat, and he was relying on his left leg a little too much, gazing down my way to see what the cause of the ruckus was.

There was a moment of absolute silence, as we stared at each other.

"Mr. Stoker is that you?" he wondered, in his familiar voice, and I relaxed my shoulders for effect, then waved, "What on Earth are you doing down there?" He wondered.

He began toward me, limping down the street, and as he neared I caught a glimpse of the friendly smile on the features of the bookshop keeper I met on the very first day as they became clearer through the mist that was falling from the sky.

"Lingering in the cold isn't a grand idea, you know?" He called when he neared, with a little chuckle.

"It's sheltered here," I called back, smiling, "I was waiting for you, actually."

"Me?" He wondered in a quieter voice as he was nearly within reach, his brown eyebrows rose high above his brown eyes.

"Yes, you," I smiled warmly, " _Charles Evenson_."

His eyebrows pulled down a little as he tried to recall a moment when he told me his name, he couldn't remember one, because there wasn't one, but he dismissed the caution he felt.

"Why were you waiting for me in an alley?" He wondered with a slightly nervous laugh, and I took a moment to fully appreciate the amount of work that must go into creating such a facade. Hatred seeped into my veins, boiling my blood, and I nearly pounced on him there. Finally, finally, finally, the man that ruined my mother's life was standing right in front of me, breathing what would be his last few breaths. I calmed myself a little, I needed to be certain it was him before I killed.

"I had a question about the bookshop." I lied, "It took me a while to figure out how it was named. Do you know what darling sounds like in a British accent?" I wondered with a smile.

He answered me in his head, but he didn't use his words, so I answered my own question for him.

"It sounds like Darlene." There was a brief pause, "That's how the bookshop got its name, isn't it? Because Jack's – or should I say, John's – accent makes the two words sound the same. In reality it's actually _Little Darlene's Bookshop._ "

He grinned, "Well done. Most people think it has something to do with _Peter Pan._ "

"The boy who never grew old," I murmured, "Don't I know what that's like."

"What was that?" He wondered, with his eyebrows crumpling a little.

I shook my head, "It got me thinking about wordplay, and nicknames actually. After all, Darlene's husband is John, who goes by the nickname Jack, and you're Charles, but they call you Chuck. Funny things nicknames, aren't they?"

"Do you know Darlene?" He asked with curiosity.

I shook my head, "I know someone who knew her."

"Oh?" He seemed surprised, "I'd probably know this person too."

"You do," I replied definitively, with a tiny smile as the hatred came back.

"I do?" he was a little confused, "How do you know I do?"

"Because she knows you," I replied back simply, but cryptically.

"What is her name?" He inquired.

I shook my head, "I'll tell you later. I had a few questions I wanted to ask. I'm writing a research paper for my business class at college on small business management. I was wondering if you had any insights."

His brow furrowed, "Are you old enough to be in college?"

I shrugged, "Sure. So I was wondering if I could ask a few questions?"

He was growing suspicious of me, something in his mind was telling him to leave. I found it funny that such a brute was experiencing fear that he didn't understand. "Couldn't we do it at a better time?"

I shook my head, "No, it's due tomorrow."

"Why have you left it so late, boy?" He exclaimed, trying to joke with me.

I shrugged, "Couldn't find any inspiration."

He waved his hand nonchalantly, "Well go on then. But lets walk and talk, my wife is waiting for me."

I nodded, and we started down the alleyway, smiling to myself thinking about how if he made it home - which he wouldn't - he'd be most surprised to find his second wife had left him just like the first.

"What's your role at Darlene's bookshop?" I wondered, knowing the answer.

"I'm the manager."

"Do you have much training?"

He shrugged, "A seminar here and there."

"Like the one in New York, back in '22?"

His brow furrowed, and his mind filled with confusion, before he shook it off and laughed, "What are you, some kind of mind reader boy?"

I joined his mirth with my own chuckles, then muttered, "Yes, something like that."

"Wait a moment!" He exclaimed, recalling that day in New York, "Boy George, I thought you looked familiar! I saw you in New York! In the alleyway. With another man, and a woman."

I smiled slightly in reply, as I stopped walking. "Yes, it seems as though you did."

He grew suspicious again and his heart began to beat quicker with fear. He too stopped walking, and turned to look at me with narrowed eyes. The friendly façade had finally been dropped, and I couldn't believe I didn't recognise that ugly evil sneer earlier, "Who are you?"

"I'm a friend of your wife's," I stated simply.

His hands balled into fists at his sides, "My wife doesn't know you."

"No, not your new wife, who had coincidentally left you." I shook my head, grinning, "I'm talking about your first wife, who also left you."

He froze for the slightest second before ignoring my first comment and snarling, "She's dead."

I shook my head again slowly, still grinning, "If she was dead, the how would I know about your soccer accident," I gently nudged him in his weak hip, "That caused your limp?" He doubled over for a moment, grasping his hip as his thoughts swam in pain. So maybe it was a vampire nudge, and more of a world champion kick boxer style kick to a human, I might have to work on that.

"You know," I continued conversationally as he tried to ignore the pain and straighten up, "She told me about Darlene. She said that Darlene gave her a copy of _A Christmas Carol,_ but you wouldn't let her keep it would you?"

 _How does he know that?_ He wondered as he finally managed to stand up somewhat straight again. His hand still rested on his hip, and he was favouring his other leg even more than before.

"Oh, you'd be surprised at what I know," I muttered darkly, loud enough for him to hear.

"My ex-wife is dead," he insisted.

"Really? So you're telling me you didn't even briefly recognise that little wisp of that caramel hair in that alleyway in New York in 1922, that is so singular to Esme Platt?"

 _How does he know her name?_ He wondered briefly before thinking back to that day in New York. His memory was foggy, but rather clear for a human, as he remembered turning the corner into the alley to take a shortcut with his new wife. He pictured my face, the memory of my face was clearer than the rest of the scene, only because I was standing right in front of him as he recalled it. He briefly glanced at Carlisle and Esme. Carlisle's head was down, focussed on Esme's obscured face. Charles remembered feeling irritated that we were taking up the alley, and then, for a split second, right as the woman stepped closer to the blonde man's chest, a tiny wisp of hair fell out from beneath her hat. He didn't recognise it immediately, because his first wife was the furthest thing from his mind, but now in hindsight he could see it. The not-quite brown, but not-quite red with a-little-too-much-blonde hair was the exact same colour as hair he'd only ever once seen before in his life. His memory switched to picture Esme as a bride, walking down the aisle to him looking somewhat sombre, and then flicked to their wedding night, but before he could go into any detail, I caught him by the throat and pushed him against a wall so fast he could not see me coming. He hit the wall with a sloppy sounding bang, a few cracks alerted me to some bones breaking, and I reminded myself to be a little more gentle if I wanted to keep my prey alive. His train of thought was derailed, his mind was filled with nothing but panic as he tried to fight my grasp, to no avail.

"What are you?" he managed to choke out.

"Trust me," I grinned ruefully, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

He was still trying to fight me as he choked, and his eyes became bloodshot. I loosened my grip on his neck just a little and he gulped down the oxygen.

"Why are you doing this?" he spluttered out.

"Because you hurt someone I love. Someone you should have loved, and you deserve to rot in the fiery pits for that."

"You can't know Es –"

"Don't you dare say her name," I growled, "You lost all right to say her name when you beat her. This is what you get for that. This is justice, Charles Evenson."

His all ready pounding heart broke into a sprint as he broke into a sweat with fear. _What is he?_ He wondered again.

"She's _dead_ ," he spat once more, ignoring his fear.

"Actually," I murmured thoughtfully, "She's not... Do you know what she is?"

He didn't reply, so I applied more pressure to his throat.

"I asked you," I growled, "Do you know what she is?"

"She's what?" He choked, trying to breathe under the increased pressure I exerted on his windpipe.

I took a moment to look in his eyes, and grin my very best smile at him, showing two perfect rows of razor sharp teeth, before I moved in a little closer, put my lips at his throat just below his ear, and whispered "She's _happy_."

* * *

 _A.N. So, did you like the first adventure of_ Edward Masen: Vampire Detective? _That will be the longest of all Edward chapters, I think, because Charles was important. Did you like the whodunit storyline? More to the point, did you guess who it was? It was super fun to write something different like that. Also, **I've posted an extra scene of this chapter in Lost Moments of Faith & Love, called 'Esme Evenson d. 1921'**_

 _Back to Carlisle and Esme next! As they try to deal with the gaping whole that Edward has left in their life! We're going into Esme's POV, which I'm happy about because I love Esme's POV._

 _Also, I want to say a gigantic thank you for all of your support this past year. I can't believe it was a year ago today that I posted chapter 1 of Faith & Love. I had no idea how many people would enjoy the little story that came from my fingers after rediscovering Stephenie Meyer's wonderful characters. Thank you for all your reviews, your follows and your favourites. You guys are awesome! _


	8. Discord in Paradise

_Chapter Eight: Discord in Paradise_

 _Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1927_

 _Esme_

Misery. It had become my shadow in the darkness. It had become the black cloak I wore as I wandered around the empty house of horrors aimlessly, hopelessly, helplessly. It became the constant companion that I could always be certain would be there every minute of every hour of every day.

I sat on the floor directly in front of one of the large, floor to ceiling windows in the master bedroom, numbly staring out at the empty forest in front of me. It had become green with the spring that arrived after Edward left, it had thrived and flourished, sprouting rich colours that took on the brightness of the sun, or the greyness of the clouds, or the darkness of the night. I envied it's interchangeability, for it seemed that misery painted me the colour of the blackest night even during the brightest spring day. I could not escape it. Although, I admit, I never once tried. It was in every single tick of the clock in the study, it was in the absence of the steady breathing that had before become a constant fixture from the second floor bedroom, it was in the dust particles that lay atop the unused piano in the awful extension of the house of horrors I'd truly come to loathe, and perhaps most painfully, it was in every single word of the detached tone used constantly by my husband since the day Edward left and misery arrived.

My life had once been like the forest that spring created, so beautiful and bountiful, overflowing with joy and sheer happiness, but now unlike the forest, my life was dying and wilting and brimming with pain.

I desperately wanted to feel something other than the all-consuming numbness of the depressing gloom, so I tired to envy the full forest in front of me and yet I could not seem to harness the emotional energy required for such a feat. All I could do was turn away from the window, listening to the thick material of my dress rustle against the hardwood floors of the bedroom as I twisted around and away from the view.

The new view I was met with was not much better at all. An unused bed, once the place of a nightly ritual where my husband would hold me tenderly in his arms while we discussed in whispers and hushed tones everything from the happenings of our days to the significance of the stars. But since the misery came and changed it all, he had better things to do – like obsessing over whatever it was he studied endlessly over in his study – and I had better things to feel, like misery.

It was a vast ocean of depression that surrounded Carlisle and I. In the first few hours, and the first few days after finding Edward's note, we kept afloat by helping one another through it. Quiet words of assurance that everything was inevitably bound to magically right itself, were uttered between one another knowing fully well that neither of us believed them for even the briefest moment. We found energy and reason not to let the waves pull us under, and we managed for days, even weeks. Despite immortals never getting physically tired, I had never felt quite as exhausted as I did, wading in those waters of emotional agony, going about my usual routines, acting as though Edward's leaving was just a right of passage, a child growing up, and leaving the nest, rather than treating it exactly how it felt: a child disappearing, never to come back again.

I guess we'd convinced ourselves that not only would 'forever' apply to us as a couple, but to us as a family also. So forever was severed short, it was the shock of it that stung the most.

I stared at the white sheets of the bed, lingering on the brown afghan that lay atop, reminding me of simpler, happier times. Those happy times got stuck in my throat, making me want to choke when I thought of them, so as silly as it may have been to do, I blocked them out, swallowed them down, and tried to keep afloat in the ocean of misery.

Slowly, I pressed my hands against the hardwood floor and raised myself to my feet. Moving as slow, or even slower than a human would, I wandered on over, passed the bed and toward the door. The house was empty – Carlisle was at work – so I figured I'd go walking down the halls like a lost soul as I often did, because spending all day staring at a bed, swallowing down happy memories never once did me any favours, and I figured that was never going to change.

The third floor landing was as empty and dark as always, reminding me why I hated the house, as I tried to fight away the aching in my heart listening to the silence loudly echoing off of the walls.

I missed my husband dearly, but on occasion I found that I preferred him being at work, for I'd come to find on more occasions than not, I missed him even more when he was home. He wasn't _my_ husband. All though he was as caring, and thoughtful and compassionate as my husband, he wasn't happy. The worst thing about it though, was that he thought he was fooling me into thinking he was. He shared a little bit of his pain, but only a little bit. I could tell that, from a little something in the muted light of his eyes, which made me think he was guarding his inner most thoughts too closely to his heart for even me to manage to get through to him. Something about that sad light pained me, but what pained me more was the fake façade of strength he put on in front of me.

He always made sure that I was okay, he always held me when I needed him to, he never looked annoyed when I cried too much, but when I asked him if he was okay, he was never honest, and he never said 'no,' even though I could see it. He never let me hold him when he needed me to, and he never cried. It was like the departure of our only son wasn't affecting him at all, and yet; it had dampened his spirits so much.

But he tired to be strong for me, even though it really wasn't working, and yet I couldn't say anything to him about that. After all, how do you tell the one person that you love the very most, that every single thing they're doing to help you feel okay is simply not working and you feel plainly and devastatingly miserable? Well, the easy answer is, of course: you don't.

I wandered over to the staircase, running my hands along the bumpy dark handrail, and began to descend toward the second floor.

The silence in the house could either exacerbate my pain, or give me a reprieve from it. Whenever I felt like the absence of noise symbolised my absence of life, I relished in it, but when ever I missed my husband or son, the waves of the ocean of misery came crashing over me harder and faster and I could feel myself sinking to the depths below.

When I reached the bottom of the staircase, I looked directly toward the dark wooden door that had remained closed since that awful day in January. It had featured in every single one of my paintings or drawings or thoughts since Edward left, haunting me and driving me mad. I could not quiet decide if opening it and letting myself in to Edward's old space would in anyway help me with my depression, or if it would just serve to push me deeper into the ocean, perhaps down to the bottom, where I couldn't breathe, I couldn't speak, and couldn't feel.

With my empty feelings and my long black dress, I was in such a mood I felt that perhaps more pain would be better than feeling numb and nothing and empty like I was. So I slowly meandered over to the closed entrance, took a deep breath, and turned the knob.

The heavy door creaked as I timidly pushed it open, the bottom edge scraped slightly against the plush carpet rug he'd once shoved up against it. I wondered why he ever did that? The dark room was filled with dust and the must scent of fabric gone too long without fresh air, but I dared not open a single window, for the room was also filled with a different scent, the one I longed to smell. It seemed to have seeped into the walls, imbedded itself into the rich green wallpaper, and saturated the upholstery of the armchair in the dark corner; it was alive inside the drawers that still held his clothes, and on the dust of the large four poster, which filled the room. I slowly meandered over there inhaling as much of the honey-lilac-and-sun scent that I could, reminding myself of happier, brighter days. My hand ran along the rich green duvet, and I listened to the crunch and crumple beneath my gentle fingers. I couldn't refrain from slowly sitting down on the bed he used to call his own. Numbly my eyes drifted around the dark room filled with such emptiness, and I fought the urge to pull open the curtains in hopes to let in even a fraction of light, but the darkness suited my desolate mood. A sob rattled my chest, I closed my eyes and hoped with all I had, despite knowing how fruitless it was, that he'd waltz inside the room right then and ask me if I was waiting for his laundry, running a hand through that dishevelled hair, wearing that teasing crooked smile, because he'd know I wasn't but he'd never even think to tease me for loving him the way I did.

Just as I knew it would, however, the room remained just as empty as it was before when I opened my eyes once more. The sobs were threatening to choke me more frequently, but what reason did I truly have to bite them back? The house was empty, I had no one to be strong for, and I'd been filled with enough misery to last me an eternity.

I climbed up onto the middle of the bed laying in foetal position and resting my head on the pillow. He used to lie there with his hands behind his head, looking up to the ceiling, thinking quietly to himself. So, I imagined him laying there beside me quietly, lost in his own world of his and everyone else's thoughts, and I let the misery have me. I didn't want much, I didn't ask for much, all I wanted was for him to be happy, and maybe if that could make us happy too.

I'd like to say that by the time Carlisle's loud clanging clock in the study downstairs chimed to tell me that it was twelve noon, I felt any better at all, but if I said that I'd be telling a blatant lie, and that wouldn't help me at all.

With a heavy sigh and reluctant arms, I pushed myself off of the bed, and tried to convince myself that going into town like I'd earlier planned would be the best of any ideas that I had. Wallowing in pain never did any good anyway.

It was just that… finding a reason not to wallow in pain was unbelievably hard when you could only foresee a future of such misery ahead.

I went back upstairs to change out of my dark clothes, into a dress of dark purple. If I wore black out in public people would wonder what happened, and who died, but I didn't feel like faking it so much to wear happiness like yellows or oranges down the streets.

Once I'd fixed my clothes, and donned a coat with gloves and a hat, I managed to get downstairs and outside, still walking as slow as a human would. I gathered my bag and exited, locking the front door behind me, and heading off through the flourishing garden to the outhouse where we kept the automobiles. Despite it causing me pain to do so, Edward's automobile had by default become mine. Carlisle offered me his, of course, but I was trying to be a little blasé and not show exactly how hard it was for me to cope, so not to full his plate with even more than it all ready was, and so I lied and told him it was fine. It wasn't fine, it was Edward's automobile, not mine. And I wanted Edward to drive it.

When I sat in the front seat, and put my bag by my side, I placed my hands on the wheel to steady myself for a moment while I choked back the sobs and took a few deep breaths. Then, I turned it on and chugged down the driveway, going slowly, because it was Edward who always sped.

When I stuck within the safe limits of speed, the drive into Cambridge was average in length, whenever I was with one of the boys it seemed to pass in the blink of an eye, but those kind of thoughts hit me square in the chest, so I chided myself for remembering that, and for taking it for granted when I had it. I drove by the river when I reached town, catching a glimpse of the university campus in the distance. It was a hard, hard task going back to school that very first day by myself. I cringed at the memory, as I tried to find a place to park.

 _I sat in the back of the mathematics class pretending to take notes down on paper, all the while focussing solely on the large gaping hope beside me where Edward's empty desk sat unoccupied. They all noticed Edward's absence; I could see their not-so-subtle glances backward every so often wondering why only one of the Cullen's were attending. That never happened, we were always there together, or not there at all, and when we were there our intimidating presence could always be felt from the back of the room. I wondered if they still all felt intimidated, because I surely didn't feel intimidating, in fact I felt like the best thing that I could do would be to shrink back into the walls and disappear for eternity. I wanted to be invisible. Professor Turner lectured on, in what felt like the longest class that I had ever attended, before cutting himself short when he saw the time._

" _All right," he announced, "I expect to see you all in next weeks lecture. If you miss a lecture you'll fall behind."_

 _The students all sighed a breath of relief, and gathered their things loudly as they started to leave. I put my things away slowly, not caring too much if I was late to Martins' class. Once all of my things were gathered in my bag, I walked between the empty desks toward the door._

" _Uh, Mrs. Cullen?" Professor Turner murmured from his desk, "Can I borrow you for a moment?"_

" _Of course," I replied back in a quiet voice, changing my course and navigating my way to stand by his large desk._

 _He looked up at me when I arrived, taking off his glasses, and leaning back into his chair. His hazel eyes looked concerned beneath his bushy auburn eyebrows, "Mrs. Cullen, I can't help but notice your brother Mr. Masen is not only absent from my class today, but also absent from my enrolment list."_

 _I sucked in a deep breath, and nodded, "That is correct. He won't be returning."_

" _You have missed several of my classes Mrs. Cullen. I know it is far from my place, but in the interests of your welfare I must ask if all is quite well?"_

 _I stared at him blankly for the briefest moment before allowing a small smile at his kindness, "I do apologise professor, I had some terrible news a few weeks back of a death of a very close friend, and my brother has now had to leave town. It's slightly difficult to get used to, but I assure you I won't be missing any more of your classes."_

" _I'm very sorry to hear that, Mrs. Cullen," he murmured, "But glad, none-the-less that you'll continue to attend. As I have mentioned before, you're a very good mathematician, and I am still quietly hoping to myself that I'll see you in my building design class next semester."_

 _I nodded and breathed, "Perhaps." Before bidding him farewell and quickly moping out of class._

 _I walked numbly to Martins' art class, briefly entertaining the idea of changing my major to architecture, just because that was what Edward wanted for me, and I wasn't entirely sure why I kicked up such a fuss about his suggestion. If only I had just agreed, we wouldn't have spent our last few months together arguing._

 _For once, I arrived to Martins' class on time, but he made sure to insert not-so-subtle jabs into his usual beginning talk about people who miss too many classes. After the seventeenth glare he shot me, I decided that next chance I got, I'd go to speak to the head of art, or the dean, or whoever it was, and demand to get my art remarked by an impartial teacher. I would not fail this silly class and have to resit it with the silly teacher._

 _Martins was in the middle of making a snide remark about how it seemed to be the women with husbands and houses to take care of that were not quite as dedicated to their classes as the others, when a very bold voice came from the back of the room._

" _Unless said people are failing your class, sir, shouldn't you continue on with your teaching of art, and leave the debate as to whether or not a married woman should attend this institution to her and her husband?" All heads turned around to a very confident and annoyed looking woman in the back, who was proudly displaying her wedding rings._

 _Martins murmured intelligibly under his breath, before he took this woman's advice and began to talk art. The woman in the back caught my eye and smiled, so I returned the same courtesy back. She found me after class as I was walking to my car._

" _Excuse me!" She called, rushing up to me, a hand securing her hat to her head, as her bag flew behind her, "Excuse me!"_

 _I stopped where I was and waited for her to catch up. Her sky blue skirt made up for the lack of blue in the sky, and her salmon coloured knit brought out the blush in her cheeks from her run. The wind made her scent resistible, thankfully._

" _Yes?" I wondered curiously and quietly._

" _You're Esme Cullen, from art class, yes?" She wondered, beaming brightly at me._

 _I nodded, "I am."_

 _She held out a gloved hand, "I'm Ruth Parker. My husband knows your husband, distantly, through a few cousins."_

 _I'm sure I looked baffled, because she elaborated, "His third cousin is a general practitioner. You_ are _married to the trauma surgeon Doctor Cullen, right? There's not another one that I'm getting confused with, is there?"_

 _I nodded with a small smile, "Not that I know of, and yes I am."_

" _Good," she breathed a sigh of relief, and gestured for me to continue walking, so I did, and she walked with me, "I thought it best to make friends with the other married woman in Martins' class, so we can band together when he's being unreasonable."_

" _Oh," I smiled, "Good idea."_

 _We chatted quietly as we walked to the car park, and she managed to find me nearly every day I was at MIT, even though I told myself making friends with mortals wasn't a good idea, she wouldn't let me go._

 _Just last week, she pulled me aside, out of the crowd we were walking in, and murmured seriously, "Look, I know about your brother, and how he left town. I also know how close you two were, so of course its breaking your heart to be away from him, but just because he's left doesn't mean you can be happy while still missing him. And if you think your constant saying 'no' to my lunch invites are going to put me off asking, you've got another think coming."_

 _With that, and a big grin, she turned away and walked off to class._

It was all very well her thinking my refusal to attend her luncheons were because I was grieving, when in all honesty, I refused mostly because I couldn't stand having to put on a human charade pretending to eat lunch while only being able to think about how one day she'll be dead and I wont. I couldn't do that, not so soon after Elsie's death.

I sighed aloud and tore my eyes away from the big building, focussing on the errands I had for the day, making sure I took it one day at a time.

Around the back of some stores down a little street, I managed to find a nice place to park. Before I got out, I took another deep breath, trying to calm myself down. I was a master at putting on a brave face, but it wasn't getting any easier with more and more days. I locked the automobile before I left, and began my days shopping. My first stop was the grocers, to keep up appearances and the pretence of being a normal human family... or perhaps 'couple' was the better term to use. Shopping for food had once been a job for Carlisle and Edward to share, when I became more competent at controlling my thirst, it was a job that Edward and I undertook together. As I walked into the large store, the memory of him holding the door open for me, chattering away hit me like a ton of bricks, making my chest tighten once again. I steadied myself and grabbed a basket, holding on tightly unlike Edward, who used to fling it on his arms with carelessness. I wandered around the small store alone, picking out tinned goods and a few fresh vegetables, missing the quiet commentary he used to supply about the horrid human food.

I made my choices slowly, giving small smiles to other shoppers who wandered on by, pretending that I was thoughtfully picking the ingredients to make a nice dinner for my caring husband, when in all reality, I was choosing what food would end up on the door step of the children's home three blocks away. It was a good deed, I am well aware, but I garnered no happiness from doing so. I wasn't even sure if happiness was something that would ever be possible for me. When my chest grew so tight, and breathing became so hard, I just stopped it all together, making sure I lifted my shoulders periodically to give the illusion of inhalation. It made everything easier, not breathing, no delicious scents of humans, and no horrid scents of food.

The elderly shopkeeper gave me a sympathetic smile when I brought my food up to the counter. I asked him for a few products that were on the wall behind him, and the surrendered my basket full of goods.

"And how are you today, young lady?" He wondered, his watery eyes filled with kindness.

I gave him a tiny smile, and spoke in an even smaller voice, "I'm doing just fine, thank you."

"That's good to hear," he murmured, but I could tell he didn't believe me, "Good to hear."

After he placed all my items into brown paper bags, and I forfeited the amount I owed, I took my bags out to where I'd parked the automobile, then set off to continue my errands.

I stopped by the bank to do a few odd jobs for Carlisle, and then, with nothing more I needed to do, I wandered about town. The florist window was brimming with bright flowers and happy tones, but the vividness of it all was a little too dazzling for my eyes and tired mood, so I didn't even bother wandering on in, even though I was contemplating buying some bulbs to plant in the garden. I ignored the window of the bookstore, the homewares, and the art shop, because I was far too tired for any of that excitement, and I only gave thinking about taking a break in the park the briefest thought, because parks reminded me of Edward and the paints. Paints I hadn't touched since he left. I couldn't bring myself to do it.

So, I wandered around aimlessly, toying with the idea of popping into the hospital to see Carlisle, and then deciding against it because I couldn't handle the blood, and seeing his empty eyes, devoid of any of the light I fell in love with, was much, much worse than missing him. It was mid afternoon when I decided to stop by the post office before heading home.

I wandered on down to the big stone building on the corner of two streets, and joined the line of customers waiting to send or receive. There were always wads of letters for Carlisle and journals that he'd subscribed to, as well as magazines and catalogues for me, but when I reached the counter I was greatly surprised when the woman informed me there was also a large package for Carlisle and I. For a moment, I was baffled, I couldn't recall Carlisle ordering something large, and I definitely didn't, so who sent it? A tiny drip of dread dropped into my stomach as it occurred to me the package could be from Edward. Fear came with the dread, as I wondered what it would be.

The lady had to ask a young man to go out the back and get it because apparently it was too heavy. When he arrived back, I wondered anxiously, "Where is it from?"

He looked down at the writing atop it, murmuring, "Ohio. Columbus, Ohio."

And the drip of dread turned into a flood that spread from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. I had to lead the young boy back to where I'd parked because it would have looked a little strange if I could lift in when he struggled.

My mind was miles away, but I managed to murmur, "I'm not parked far away, I do apologise."

He shook his head, "Don't mention it."

He eyed me with great curiosity as we walked, but thankfully didn't try to spark up any conversation. I couldn't help but thinking, if Edward had have been with me, I would have never had to make a poor human carry the heavy box. But every thought of Edward had the dread intensifying in my body.

The young boy blushed even more as he slid the box into the backseat of my automobile and I thanked him. He lingered for a moment longer, not sure what to do, but disappeared when I opened the drivers door and hopped on in.

I drove the whole way home feeling ill, not knowing white what to do when I got there, especially with the box. It was still reasonably early when I got home, and with nearly quite a while until Carlisle would return, I felt restless. I couldn't open the box until he was home, not only because I feared what I would find inside, but also because it was addressed to the both of us. I grabbed the groceries from the backseat, and stacked them atop the box with the mail, before taking it all inside at vampire speed.

The house was still empty and eerie, but it could not shake my other emotions out of my body. I left the box in Carlisle's study out of my line of sight, before taking the bags into the kitchen, where I left it on the bench, and settle down in the living room with my magazines and catalogues, hoping they'd be able to distract me from the curiosity and anxiety that the box in the other room brought me. I read through the fashion and art books first, before running out of things to do and finally picking up a home design book. I flicked straight to the kitchen section because it was the worst room in the house, and I was the only one who ever went in there. There were no painful memories of Edward circling around; unlike of course, the plethora of memories that sat behind the large closed white doors to my left, which led to the piano. I drew my legs up onto the seat and tucked them underneath me, before leaning back into the corner of the couch where the back met the arm. The pages were filled with perfectly organised and beautifully designed bright spaces, which was greatly unlike the dark space with cracked benches and a dubiously constructed ceiling that sat in the right-hand side extension of the house.

It had an awkward wall that seemed as thought it could fall down at any moment separating the kitchen and the dining room, making the two spaces dark and dingy. I was at a loss as to what to do with them, so I'd largely ignored it. It wasn't used anyway. The pictures adorning the pages did arouse slight inspiration but it was so dampened by my sadness and trepidation that it was ineffective, and wouldn't spur me to make any changes. It did however, manage to help me whittle away an hour or two. So, with half an hour until Carlisle came home I went upstairs and changed, moving at human pace to waste more time. Then I potted around in the kitchen sorting out what food would go to what home, when finally, Carlisle's tyres turned onto the gravel of our driveway. He did not speed; he travelled down the road at a speed that would suggest police patrolled our forest path. This was not at all unusual as of late; he never seemed to be in a rush to be home anymore.

Sadness and dread battled it out for prime of place inside my body in such a way they hadn't since I was a newborn. Surprisingly, more than anything though, I felt a strong sense of longing panting at my heart, a longing I wasn't sure would go away anytime soon, but a longing that caused me to stop what I was doing when Carlisle reached the garage, and head out of the kitchen toward the door. I moved outside at a pace quicker than I had moved all day, and I forgot all about any silly pretences of strength I may have previously had. When I saw him with his shoulder length hair in a bit of a mess, coming out of the stone building, with his medical bag in one hand, and the other one heading up toward his head, I was filled with an all consuming need to be wrapped in his arms.

I marched across the grass and he looked up with slight surprise when he heard me. He didn't smile in greeting, because I wasn't smiling at him, in fact he looked a little worried. So I marched straight to him, burying my face in his shirt and wrapping my arms around his waist. He was a little surprised for a short moment, for I hadn't really acted like that in a few weeks, in fact, I'd acted a little more distant than I should have, answering all his questions in one word answers, lingering on nothing more than the pain that made it hard to breathe, doing the worst thing I could have done – pushing him away. Perhaps it wasn't really him at all that had caused the emptiness in our relationship, perhaps it was just me. That would make a lot more sense.

He dropped his bag on the ground and wrapped his arms around me in return, gently placing one at the back of my head, and the other between my shoulder blades. His lips fell down to the top of my head, and he pressed a long kiss there. Something about it all felt like he was telling me 'I missed you.' I hoped he could feel me telling him that I missed him too.

I didn't cry as we stood there, I didn't even breathe; I just focussed on the feeling of his strong body holding me still.

After a short while, I breathed into his chest, "We got a big box in the mail today."

"Oh?" He wondered quietly, murmuring into my hair, "Who from?" His voice, so soft and gentle, felt like cool, soft sheets gliding over smooth bare skin.

"I put it in your study, I thought we could open it together…" I replied back quietly, working myself up to the important part, "It is from Columbus."

"Oh." His reply was more of an exhale than a word, like my words had knocked all the air out of him. He had to have been expecting something of the sort, but perhaps against his better judgement, he was hoping it wouldn't come. "That was a good idea, love. We can open it together."

I nodded, not willing to let him go yet, simply wondering if he was feeling the same dread I was, or if he was simply curious about what the box held.

When he slowly lifted his lips from my hair and began to rub my back I figured he was ready to get the box open and reveal whatever it was that Edward had chosen to send us. I stepped back a little, and looked up at him, he offered me a small smile, and brought his hand up to stroke my cheek, before he placed a feather soft kiss upon my forehead. I took a deep breath and stepped back even further, ready to head toward the house, but he caught me, and laced his fingers through mine.

"Don't make me let you go," he breathed, almost inaudibly, I couldn't even be certain that he said it, it could have just been a trick of the wind, but I clutched his hand tightly and buried myself into his side none-the-less.

When we got inside the study, he eyed the box sitting on the floor by the couches, but didn't let my hand go as he placed his bag by his desk. Together, we walked over to the blue seats with rabid trepidation, both holding our breath. I dropped down to the floor first, carefully tucking my legs beneath my body, leaning up against the couch, and he took the spot on the floor next to me, our intertwined hands sat on the floor between us.

He looked over to me before he opened it, to check if I was ready. I wasn't, but I gave him the very best encouraging smile that I could. I could tell it was feeble from the small smile that he returned, and I just knew we were feeling the same way about this.

"What do you think it could be?" I breathed, as he carefully pulled his hand away from mine and reached up to the box.

He gave a little shrug, "A myriad of things have crossed my mind, some garish, some touching. Although thoroughly predictable in some aspects, he's often quite surprising."

I nodded, and watched with bated breath as Carlisle ran a nail over the seal of the box. I moved onto my knees to get a better look, as Carlisle opened the four flaps.

What lay in the box was nothing at all like what I was expecting.

A few dozen candles were all packed neatly into the box, each a slightly different colour, and each with a distinct smell. Carlisle and I stared at the contents in befuddlement for a short while, before I broke the silence with a question I could not come up with an answer for.

"What does it mean?" I whispered.

Carlisle shook his head, and frowned a little, "I don't know. Perhaps nothing. Odd, that he would go shopping, but he knows you like to decorate the house. It _could_ be a message, I'm just not sure what…" He reached into the box and pulled out a candle, holding it up to his nose for the briefest moment, before turning to me with a small smile, "It is quite possibly, just a nice gift for you."

He held out the pale cream coloured candle that he held for me to take, which I did. I too, gave it a small sniff to find that it smelled like lemon, and left me more confused than I was before.

"Is there anything else in there?" I wondered putting the lemon smelling object down by my side, "Other than candles?"

"There might me something at the bottom," he murmured, "Do you mind if I take these out, you can do it if you want? I've no doubt that they're for you."

I gave him a slight smile, and shook my head, so he slowly picked up candles and handed them to me. I smelled each and every one of them, they were very unusual, but I liked them. I wasn't exactly sure what I'd do with them, but it was a kind gesture, even though it only highlighted his absence, which was so glaringly obvious it really did not require highlighting.

Once all the candles were out, a small brown package remained in the box. Carlisle picked it up gingerly, and I spotted what looked to be a page ripped from a phone book sitting underneath it.

"There's something underneath it," I murmured, reaching into the book, as Carlisle looked up from the package he held and watched with curiosity.

I looked to him, before unfolding the piece of paper, which was definitely a page from the phonebook, to reveal a single pale pink flower, with a beautifully bright yellow center encircled by white. My brow pulled together, wondering why on Earth Edward would send a single flower, when Carlisle murmured in a very somber voice, "I think that's for me."

My eyes flicked to him, but his golden orbs were focussed on the rose, his lips were set in a slight frown. He placed the brown package on the floor in-between us, and I handed him the rose with the phonebook paper.

"What is it?" I wondered after a moment of him examining the flower in silence.

He looked to me with a slightly surprised expression on his face, almost as if he'd forgotten my presence.

"You might not remember," he murmured, "Or you might have been too young, but a few decades ago it was a big thing to use flowers as communication."

I cocked my head to the side a little, trying to recall any foggy human memories that had something to do with flowers. I came up blank, so Carlisle elaborated.

"It started going out when Victoria died, so it had probably gone before you reached that age, it's called floriography. Every flower has a meaning, so one can communicate by giving a flower."

I think I'd read a novel where the characters did that, all though I don't think anyone ever tried to communicate with me by flowers. It was kind of romantic, like a secret language, "It rings a few dim bells."

His eyes fell back to the flower, which he held up, "This is a sweet briar. It means poetry, and depending on your dictionary, it can also mean 'I wound to heal.' I think the latter is more relevant than poetry. But this," he breathed, looking over to the paper, "I wonder what –"

Right at the moment he trailed off, my eyes came to rest upon the words written on the brown paper package that sat in between us, and my breath caught in my throat. The feeling of dread that I'd been feeling since I heard we had mail came and hit me full force, in a blazing fire of I wasn't quite sure what, but I was filled with the all consuming desire to run away.

I gingerly reached out for the rectangle object I now knew to be a book, and read over those words written in a distantly familiar hand, all the while trying to repress a thousand hazy, dark memories of a man I wished I never knew. When my vampire fingers came in contact with the plain paper wrapping a single word came out my mouth, as Carlisle too, began to speak.

"Charles," I breathed in disbelief.

"Esme I'm so – pardon?" He looked at me with a baffled expression.

"I…" I picked up the book, "This…" I shook my head trying to fight away the strong emotions I couldn't quite understand, "I don't know why he sent this. I don't… But…" I turned it over, thinking only that surely he couldn't know where Charles lived, so he could not know where Charles worked, so he could not have purchased the book from him, perhaps it was John or Darlene that he met. As soon as the brown paper wrapping was off, however, I knew for certain that I was wrong.

The fact that the book was addressed to Mr. Stoker, the man who wrote Dracula, a vampire that preyed upon humans was a red flag, as was the flower Edward had given Carlisle, but the beautiful book in my little hands simply confirmed that Edward had in fact, found Charles. For, if I was to take any message from the volume of _Sherlock Holmes_ that I held, it was that Edward had played the part of detective and found him. But how did… the phonebook. I looked up to Carlisle, some heat other than dread bubbling beneath the surface of my skin, "That page is all the people who could be Charles Evenson that live in Columbus, isn't it?" I wondered.

He blinked, and then nodded, "Yes, how did you know?"

I pushed the paper toward him, "Little Darling's Bookstore is where Charles worked when he got back from the war. It was run and owned by two friends of his. Nice people. He couldn't work in a factory because of his hip, but he'd never had any experience in managerial roles, so they offered him a position. Edward went there and found him," I realised then, that the heat in my veins was nothing other than boiling anger, making my toes curl from their spot underneath my body. My back teeth clenched, and I looked back down to the book I was holding. I had dreamed of that volume for such a long time, but I couldn't keep it. I couldn't have that in my house knowing that it was purchased from the man who ruined my life, possibly just moments before he died. I put it on the ground, then pushed it away from me. It skidded across the floorboards, under the couch, and all the way to the other side of the room, making a slight indent in the wall. My breath caught in my throat, I hadn't meant to push it that hard.

A growl of frustration rose in my throat, " _This_. This is why I asked him not to find Charles!" I exclaimed, "This is what he does. He ruins people's lives. I didn't want Edward to ever meet him, I didn't want him to get his vile ways into anyone's head. Edward isn't a killer, he doesn't hurt people. And I don't throw books halfway across the room making holes in the wall!" I yelled, "And I don't yell, and I'm not an angry person, but look at me! Just look at me right now! I could tear down these walls, I could break these floorboards! I could rip all of my hair out!" I shook my head, trying to convey the strength of the anger that bubbled through me, "I could… I could…" I felt my face crumple in pain, as the anger made me sob, "This is what he does. He ruins things. He just…" I shook my head, my chest heaving up and down.

Carlisle placed his paper and flower down on the ground and shuffled closer to me, wrapping me tight in his arms as I let it all have me.

"There's nothing we can do anymore, Esme," he breathed soothingly, "It's done, it's over."

"I can't keep that book. I can't have a trophy of what he's done looking at me every single day."

"We'll get rid of it."

"That'll hurt his feelings."

"I'll buy you another one." He pulled back, and looked at me with a fierce fire burning wildly in his passionate eyes, "You know that, don't you? Anything you ever need or want, Esme. I'll find a way to give it to you. I always will."

"Just," my breath caught in my throat, "Just don't let me go."

He nodded, and tucked me back into his arms, burying his head into my hair once again.

Sometimes the deep depression plateaus and for a moment, a brief or a long, or a weak or a strong moment, all pretences lose their meanings and that's where strength between people forms. In his arms I could feel better, but I still couldn't feel whole. Doctors like to say "It'll get worse before it gets better" so I guess just then, we didn't quite have enough holes to heal for us to be back to where we had been once before. It had to get worse, but I had to believe that after that, we would finally begin to heal.

* * *

 _A.N. Thank you all for your reviews! I'm glad you enjoyed Edward's last chapter. Next chapter Carlisle will fill in some of the gaps that Esme skimmed over in the their time after Edward left. She's existing in a slight state of shock right now, so her narrating isn't the most insightful. I hope you all did pick up on the point where she suddenly changed her mind about something, which was actually unbeknownst to her, caused by her emotional baggage. Esme's main storyline in this story will, of course, be learning how to overcome all the tragedy in her life, and how to be a stronger person from it._

 _As some of you know, I do like being a tease, so I shall leave you with this: After chapter 12 you'll realise the last two lines of this chapter, actually contain a pun. Because I have a horribly lame sense of humour. Hope you enjoyed!_


	9. What We're Left With

_Chapter Nine: What We're Left With_

 _Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1927_

 _Carlisle_

Absence floated around our house with those silent screams that deafened vampire ears. The wind blew it in, but the wind never took it back out, it was an immovable parasite, sucking the light out of my wife and my life. Esme was nothing but a shell of the woman I knew. She used to be so filled with smiles, and joy, and hope, but the days that filled the gap between January and March had seen her gaze out windows with absent stares, sob the nights away quietly in her attic art room when she thought I was too engrossed in my work to even hear her, and struggle to find any reason to return to any form of activity that once brought her joy. She haunted the halls like a weeping angel, seemingly waiting for nothing but Edward to return home. They'd grown as thick as thieves in all the days and nights that had seen me at work, and them together. I'd come to realise her heart was tethered to his in such a way, that when he left, it tore her heart in two and the half that was strung to his, followed behind him in his wake. The other half, I knew, went wherever mine did. She neglected to leave any for herself. Hence why her eyes, once so bright and filled with life, were strikingly and heartbreakingly empty. I took her heart with me when I went to work, and when I came home I didn't seem to bring it back. I couldn't tell why, but I too felt numbly empty.

I sat at my desk as I usually did, thinking over the time that had floated by and everything it brought with it. Loneliness was something I had grown horribly accustomed to, to the point where I liked to think I was good at being lonely. A lonely place was a safe place for me to be, because I knew it well. I knew how much it hurt, how much it ached, how much it throbbed. It was easy for that to take over my life. Yet, I refused to let it do so. I also happened to treasure the integral faithfulness that the good Lord had bestowed upon me, a faithfulness that could quite often lend itself to tenacity, or quiet persistence (I had quite the time during my first few hundred years to closely analyse my own personality, perhaps another reason why being alone was such a safe thing for me to be). So, despite my tendency to favour my empty office, over her haunted halls, in the beginning, I couldn't bear to let her suffer on her own.

I couldn't even tell if she was aware how much time had passed. She spent the first month without moving much more than a muscle just lying in my arms, but when spring arrived with the month of March, she seemed to awaken slightly. She seemed to think it had only been a week or two since that fateful day in January. In some ways I wished it had. I'd taken the whole month of February off work, much to Murphy's dismay, but I didn't care, she was more important than that. Her teachers liked to call me daily to inform me that if she missed any more classes she'd be ineligible to pass, but I managed to write her up some medical certificates, promising she'd still be able to manage the content if she ever did decide to return to class. Once she was up, she improved tenfold, changing from a still statue to a lifeless, but mobile angel. In the days that she had lay still upon our bed, I had simply watched her with worry, her welfare came before my wounded emotions of Edward's leaving, but when she was up and about again, the full force of the loss hit me square in the chest, nearly knocking me over. For a few days, I was just as much of an empty entity as she, but it was the volume of William Wordsworth poems sitting in my study that pulled me out of it. I had hastily pulled it from the shelf and opened it right to the poem _The Last of the Flock_ , where Edward had left his note. I must have read that poem a thousand times, trying to figure out exactly what had been going through his mind. Time escaped me, and I came to very few answers. It was in those times that she took to painting, and crying, and wandering about like a poor lost soul.

I poured over the verses, taking myself back a few hundred years to the days I studied poetry before I found medicine. The first thing that jumped out to me was the cyclic nature of the poem, which hinted at a very fatalistic view of life, one I knew Edward could lend himself to on occasion. It could mean that he viewed his new decision as the inevitable one, but I wasn't overly partial to that idea, it would suggest he'd been unhappy in our life for much longer than I had thought, and that would taint so many of my happy memories with him. I preferred to think that it referred to the difficulty of breaking away from traditional behaviour, which would also be more realistic with what Wordsworth may have been trying to convey. That idea didn't pain me quite so much. I could understand the pulls and temptations of traditional vampire life.

It was thoughts like those, which echoed around my head, filling the screaming silence, and the gaping voids left in my life. But eventually, it was Esme who pulled me from my poems one night, her silhouette appearing in the open doorway of my study, dressed mostly in black, like she had been since she got up.

"I'm going to light a fire," she breathed looking wanly toward me. It was the first time in quite a while that she had spoken.

I blinked, staring at her blankly for the briefest moment, before nodding, "Would you like me to join you?"

She stepped inside the room, her face in the same inert expression as before, and nodded, before morphing her affirmation into a shrug, "Would you like to?" She wondered in her breathy, broken voice.

I put the poem down and nodded; trying to give her my best smile, "Of course, love."

It was moments like those, when the endearments would roll of my tongue, that I was assaulted with a thousand beautiful memories of a brighter time, and I missed her despite her physics proximity... I missed her emotionally, spiritually.

She glided through the study and out the door that led to the living room, far too big and far too wide for only the two of us.

I ran forward and got to the fire before her, flicking a quick glance over my shoulder to gauge her reaction. Something in her empty eyes brightened in the slightest but it was nothing like the reaction she once would have had. I could just picture her chasing me to the fire, laughing that delectably sweet sound of popping bubbles and chiming bells, while informing me that she'd be careful not to let the fire touch her if I just let her try light it. Of course, in the end, it always resulted in us lighting the fire together. But not that night. That night she looked about as lifeless as I felt.

She sat down on the floor, and then lay perpendicular to the fireplace. When I had managed to set fire to the wood, and fill the dark room with a warm orange hue, I took my spot behind her.

We were silent for a while, as the crackling of the fire filled the absence in the air, muting those silent screams for a just a moment.

"You should go back to work," she whispered, staring at the ceiling, "And I should go back to school."

My eyes drifted from her face, which had been half illuminated by the firelight, to stare at the ceiling also, "Is that what you want to do?" I wondered.

I heard her nod, more than I saw it, and she managed to get out a strangled "Yes," before her chest began to quickly rise up and down with sobs.

She rolled onto her side, turning her back to me, and her face to the fire. Never before had I felt such a divide between us. It was like there was a glass wall that stopped me from reaching out to her, like an invisible force binding my arms to my side rendering me immobile, unable to reach out and embrace her; comfort her. It felt, in a way, as though she didn't even want that comfort that I was so desperate to provide. My chest tightened with despair, and with a thick throat, all I could manage in reply was a quiet whisper, "If't be thy wish."

But that just made her sob harder, as I lay staring at the ceiling. I ran a hand through my hair, and then with despair still in my heart but mobility in my muscles and bones, I rolled to my side, and wrapped my arms lovingly around her. Mercifully, she didn't push me away. When morning brought the sunlight, and death to our long-lived fire, she made good on her decision and headed off to school in Edward's car. I offered her mine, but she assured me it was fine. From the expression on her face as she drove away, however, it was easy to discern that it most certainly was not fine.

I couldn't go to work for I'd not given enough notice of my return, but I did call the hospital to inform them that I would be able to return to work as soon as they needed me. I did, however, request to be taken off the nightly rotation, because of my wife's 'illness.' I'd get a hounding from Murphy because of that, but I didn't want to leave Esme at home alone during the night.

I returned to the poem that Edward had left behind, and the note itself. I searched for messages, and meaning in things. I had been spending a great deal of time looking for messages and meanings not only from what Edward left behind, but for direction from the Lord. He was the single constant that had always given me hope, the constant which had always provided when I needed Him most, even though it was often in the most unlikely of ways. I'd been praying to Him a lot, thanking Him for what He'd given me, but asking for the strength required to get through the challenges He'd also given me. It had gotten to such a point, that I was not only looking for His messages in the things Edward left behind, but also in the small things, like the dust motes that fell from the ceiling, or the configuration of the flowers blooming on the side of the roads. I was yet to find a single thing, but hope was something I clung onto with an iron grasp, after all, my faith in God had never failed me.

As I sat and looked over the poem, the house was completely silent aside from the ticking clock that lived on the bookshelf opposite me. Slowly with each second it made me grow quite mad. It was one of the first times in the past decade that I had been in a home alone, and it was frightfully unsettling. I thought I coped grandly with being on my lonesome but it seemed as though I couldn't, for a horrid little voice in the back of my head tried to convince me that she was gone. That she was never there, that the years I had spent with her and Edward had never happened, and I was going to be alone for the rest of my eternal life.

I couldn't stand the screaming silence. It was going to drive me mad. So, I stood as quickly as I could, and grabbed my medical bag before rushing out the door, and heading straight for the motorcar. I hopped in and drove straight to Harvard Medical School, for lack of a better place to go, and slipped down the corridors to my office. It was empty in there, but at least the place outside was bustling with life, at least I wasn't alone. It made me feel physically ill to realize that I so easily reverted back to who I was before Esme and Edward came along – a man driven mad by such loneliness he couldn't bear to be by himself. Perhaps all the strength I'd thought their presence had brought me was just an illusion, was just my thinking myself better than I truly was? Perhaps I wanted to believe it so fiercely, that I convinced myself to believe it regardless of the facts that were blaringly, obviously, staring me in the face.

I sat in the square office, behind my desk, attempting to mark the papers that had been left their by one of the administration workers, but my mind was far away, trying to distract myself from my short comings, thinking about Esme, wondering how she was doing, and thinking about Edward, wondering what he was doing. I didn't much like to think about the latter, but I had to respect his decision, after all, it was an option I had offered him. Despite my profuse hoping he would never take it, I could in no way prevent him from doing so. I knew that. I truly did. So why was it so hard for me to accept it? Why did I study that poem, and that letter, trying to find a way that I could have fixed his problems before they led to him fleeing to the forest to 'hide his head where wild beasts roam?'

I kept a close eye on the clock hoping to make it home before Esme had the chance, so she wouldn't catch on to my little issues with silence. From then on, however, I knew I would never try and stay at home alone again. I was a weaker man than I had once thought.

Later that same day, when Esme got home, not long after me, I asked her how her day went. She gave me a vacant smile, and said, "It was hard, but I got through. It'll be easier from now on. I know what to expect. How was your day?"

I only replied with a forced smile, and the simple words, "It went well, thank you."

She nodded, "That's good to hear," and then disappeared up into her attic art room, where she'd paint more dark doors that I couldn't discern the meaning of, and I retired back to my study, and back to the poem. That would become our daily routine for the following weeks of despair.

Truly, after Edward left, we were coexisting in the most empty of ways. Both numbly attempting to navigate our way through the mess of what we were left with.

As the days passed, I returned to work, which was worse than it had ever been. Murphy goaded me endlessly about my reduced hours, but the compassion shown by my other colleagues was something I would never forget, and always hold them in high esteem for. I often dropped Esme off to MIT on my way into town, so she wouldn't have to drive Edward's motorcar, which I knew she didn't enjoy, and I picked her up on the way home. It meant her days were long, but she mulled around town between classes sometimes, or sketched in the shade on the lawn, always with the same empty expression.

One day when I picked her up, I saw her walking across the grass from class to the car, talking quietly to another woman. They bade farewell before they reached me, but when she hopped in the car I wondered, "Was that a new friend?"

She smiled slightly but shrugged, "No, she's just a lady from one of my classes."

It bothered me that I didn't bother to ask more. But such were the days that followed on. Work got worse, but I wasn't sure what place I preferred being. Somewhere I knew I wasn't liked or welcomed, or somewhere I knew I was loved, and wanted, but from afar.

The first turning point came when Edward's box arrived in the mail. It was something of another wake up call for her. She came running out of the house when I arrived home and barrelled into me. I wrapped my arms around her after a brief moment of stunned stillness, and relished in the feeling of her slender body once again in the circle of my strength. The comfort that I gained from such a small and once common interaction was astounding. I couldn't bear to let her go, but I dreaded opening the box so much, I had to get it over and done with and out of the way. Her hand slipped into mine as we walked across the lawn, and I felt a great deal stronger because of it.

When we first opened the box, the candles confused me. I had prayed earnestly for strength, I had prayed for perseverance, I had prayed for a little something to show me it would all be fine again someday, I prayed for the ability to make it better, I prayed for Edward… I prayed for anything, and I prayed for almost everything. So I was thinking that perhaps Edward's mail was the sign I'd been asking the Lord for, but it was nothing but a confirmation that he had finally abandoned the life that I had built, the philosophy that I had wished he lived by.

I shouldn't have let it, but it broke my heart just a little more.

It did, however, bring some good. It brought my wife back to me. She let me hold her, and for the first time in months, we had a conversation. A real conversation. We wondered where Edward had gone to after Columbus, we wondered how he was coping, we discussed where we should put the candles, who we'd give the book to, where we'd find another one. She asked me what I'd do with the flower; I admitted that I was planning on putting it in between the pages of the poetry book where Edward left his note. She was quiet about that, but she said that it was 'poetic.' Later that night was the first time in months that our lips had navigated their way together, and we slowly found each other again in the sea of white sheets that once was our little haven.

From then on, Esme came a little more alive. She ran with purpose as we sprinted through the forest, she smiled with sincerity whenever she caught me looking her way, she kissed me with gentle passion. She was beginning to cope. Yet, as she grew more alive, my strength began to dissipate. I'd promised myself I needed to be strong for her, but she was beginning to find strength for herself, and as my purpose began to leave, my strength waned.

We were closer than we had been between the days of Edward's departure, and the day his box arrived in the mail, but we were not as close as we had always been before. The glass wall, all though no longer quite as thick as it once had been, still stood between us. We fell into a routine however, we would speak regularly about things that were not all that important, like the weather, or what happened during our days, and we would hold each other closely. She would cry in Edward's room when she thought I didn't know, and I would pour over the letter and the poem even more, trying to crack into Edward's mind.

Some nights we would find each other by the fire, and she would whisper sore confessions of her tired heart in a tiny voice. I wanted more than anything to whisper these things back, but she seemed to be at a place where she could talk, and I wasn't there yet.

The first time I found her, the fire was not lit, but she lay by the hearth like she was somehow getting some kind of heat from it. She stared into the depths of the empty fireplace, transfixed by some imaginary flames, as her curls caressed the ground behind her.

 _The house was silent, but not painfully so, in fact, almost peacefully so for once. I quickly wandered on over to her, and lay down behind her, brushing her hair behind her ear, and placing a soft kiss upon the smooth skin of her cheek._

 _A minuscule dimple appeared nearly instantaneously as the corners of her lips turned up into a small smile._

" _Hello," I breathed, nestling my nose into her loose hair._

" _Good morning," she breathed back, and then after a short pause, she wondered, "Is it morning?"_

 _I nodded, "It's about five. The sun should rise soon."_

 _She sighed, and leaned back into my arms, "I do so love the sunrise. It'll paint the room so many soft colours, I wonder sometimes if I should do the same."_

 _I grinned a little, into her hair, but made no reply. She may do as ever she pleases. We continued to lie there in the still morning waiting for the darkness that streamed through the windows to lighten, and then brighten._

" _What are you thinking about?" I wondered at one point in the silence, fighting the feeling of disconnect that still riddled my bones._

" _Edward," her reply whisper was soft, so soft it was nearly nonexistent._

 _It didn't surprise me, but what did surprise me was that she elaborated before I could try to pry into her mind._

" _He used to talk in the dark," she murmured, "The hard things to say, he used to say them when he couldn't see my face. Be it from the other room, or when one of us had forgotten to turn the lights on. That's when his voice was the loudest. I always wondered why. I though it because he was shy, insecure, maybe even frightened of what our expressions would be, but now I'm coming to wonder if it was only because he felt dark on the inside, and it was easier to reveal his darkness when the outside looked the same as the inside."_

 _I wasn't sure what to say in reply, as I remembered all the times Edward spoke of his deepest thoughts, and found that aside from exactly three occasions, she was right. I inhaled a deep breath of her scent from her hair, and tried to relax into her, but there was tension somewhere inside me I was yet to rid. It might have only been psychological, but it was strong enough to nearly convince me it was physiologically true._

 _Esme was still gazing into the empty fire pensively, unaware of my rigidity._

" _It was always his dreams." She breathed, in a voice that was so small for such a large room, "His dreams always came out in the dark."_

It was often only in those moments by the fire that she would speak of Edward, that she would voice the memories resounding in her head. Other times, she would quietly confess her pain. During one night we both watched the flames, with our backs pressed up against the couches, hypnotised by the beauty of the ballet that the flames performed.

 _Esme murmured, "I painted the fire this morning."_

" _Oh?" I replied, not tearing my eyes from the flames, "You've been painting a lot recently."_

 _In my peripheral vision I saw her nod, and the loose curls that framed her face bounced slightly. "Mostly the doors though."_

" _The doors?" I wondered back, glancing over at her briefly._

 _She had a slight frown turning the corners of her lips downward, "The doors that I have opened, and the ones I can't quiet open yet."_

 _I understood immediately, and looked over to the closed white double doors that led to the piano room. I murmured, "Edward's doors."_

 _She nodded again, "I'm getting there. They still haunt me… but they don't taunt me anymore."_

It was moments like that, which I opened my mouth to confess something of the same fashion to her, about my poems or my messages, or my inability to stay at home alone, but words never came out. I'm not entirely sure why, but it had something to do with the tension still plaguing my mind, it was as though I was convinced no matter how loud I shouted, my words would never get through the glass wall that still separated us.

" _I still miss him," she confessed, tracing the flames in the air with her hand as she sat on the floor, "Everyday, the pain is still there, I'm just learning how to keep the waves at bay."_

 _My brow furrowed, as I looked over to her, abandoning the lose thread of my trousers that I'd been playing with. "The waves?" I wondered._

 _She nodded slightly, and looked over to me. Her sad dark golden eyes looked up from the ground and met mine. I saw a wealth of sadness dancing there, which broke my heart all over again. I didn't change her into a vampire, taking her away from a peaceful death, for her to be sad._

" _I think of the grief like an ocean," she explained, "Trying to pull us under, but not quite managing to do so."_

" _Ah," I breathed. She may have been correct about her current swimming ability, but she'd grossly overestimated mine._

" _Back when he first left," she continued, "Sometimes I screamed so loud internally I gave myself a headache, and the heartache came with knowing that no one at all could hear me," she breathed, as my eyes broke away from hers._

 _There was a moment of silence that floated about the air, lingering between our two bodies, floating peacefully, before I split it with a murmur that came straight from my own aching heart._

" _I heard you," I said, staring blankly at the ceiling, "I could always hear you."_

Days like that brought us all the way to May, when she had mastered the art of staying afloat her ocean of grief, while I was still often swept under by the tsunami sized swell.

I sat atop the bed with paperwork on my lap and a pen in my hand, while she rustled about in the room next to ours, where she stored most of her clothes.

"How was your day?" I wondered distractedly, working over the recovery plan for the patient I had in surgery during the morning.

She sighed from the make-shift closet, and I heard the wisps of fabric sliding over silken skin, "It was going all right, truly, I was … almost feeling content, walking away from my morning exam thinking about the multiple ways of shading from different lights when I heard music coming from the school next door, and all of a sudden… I don't know… Have you ever been rocked by such a sudden and strong epiphany that nothing aside from the logic you've just realised makes sense?"

I put my files down to one side and looked towards the open door, when I failed to reply immediately, her beautiful little head popped into the open doorway, her loose curls dangling in the most endearingly comical of ways.

I grinned a little, and nodded. Favouring me with a brief smile, she returned to her activities and her epiphany of the day.

"Well, I heard the music and I realised that Edward was right. I don't want to be drawing fruit bowls or landscapes from faded photographs, or strange people's faces that I don't know, only to hand in to somebody, to be told why I am not as good as they are, and have my hard work be filed for a decade and then thrown out! I detest the institution of art school, I want to love what I'm drawing, and what I'm doing, but more than that, I want to _create_ things. I spend most of my time in lectures listening to the other lectures, like architecture and maths. I've been thinking about it for a while, I loved re-doing the houses you bought, more than I loved drawing things for class. Don't get me wrong, drawing is great, and I'll likely desire to attend art school one day, but art school isn't a broken house in need of some tender love and care. I don't want to study Monet right now; I want to _do_ something that I can see the product of afterwards. Of course, Monet is great, but Monet is… Monet. Like Van Gough and Di Vinci, I understand that they are the masters we should learn from, but mixing fourteen different shades of blue to make the perfect turquoise that suits a subject more than the brown eyes they were born with is so much less enjoyable than knocking down walls and uncovering the mystery of a house."

She floated into the room wearing a dark blue dress holding her hair above her head, and wandered over to the mirror. I watched on, slightly stunned, all though the dress was dark blue, it was not midnight blue. She was moving shades away from the darkness. That made me happy. She sighed when she saw her reflection in the mirror, and cocked her head to the side.

"Maybe I'll put a mirror in the closet," she murmured to herself, before twisting in front of the glass to view her dress from all angles.

"I like that dress, you look beautiful," I murmured with a small smile.

She shot me a little grin, "You would say that if I was wearing a rubbish bag."

I let out a chuckle, "Truly, you would look lovely in that, but you look positively delightful in this new dress."

"Thank you," she murmured sincerely.

"Did you wish to change out of your degree?" I wondered, reverting back to her epiphany.

She shrugged, and moved back toward the door, "I'm trying to work up the nerve to walk into another math class alone."

"I could always enrol with you," I offered, as the silken material slid over her smooth skin once more. She didn't reply, so I waited for her to come back into the room.

When she reappeared she was in a small silk robe, wearing an adoring smile. She came over to the bed, and climbed onto it, manoeuvring over me to the other side, "Tell me that in June, by then I might have a better idea of what I can and cannot do."

I smiled at her, "You can do anything you want to."

"Thank you," she murmured. Her eyes drifted down to the paper on my knee, "Speaking of doing things, what are you doing?" She wondered.

I shrugged, "Recovery plan, but you, my dear," I picked up the paper, and put it on the table next to me, before turning back to her, "Are far more interesting."

She held back a tiny giggle as she leaned forward to place a gentle kiss on my lips.

"And I think you look lovely in this robe…"

Some days weren't as bad as others. Some days were almost... _good_.

Come morning I left for work, while she remained at home, having finished all of her exams for the semester. I worried that the empty house would be too much for her, bust she assured me she would be okay, saying that she may even take a trip into town for some more gardening supplies. That's something she'd taken up as of late. One day I picked her up from school, where she waited for me with bags of bulbs and seeds. She explained that she wanted to start a garden, but as I imagined flourishing flowers, she was picturing something vastly different. It surprised me when she began to plant carrots, beetroots, radishes, potatoes, lemons and berries. I was yet to inquire as to why planting a vegetable was something she wanted to do, because it seemed to improve her mood. Just one of her many quirks, I guess. Admittedly, every time I descended the porch steps to the garden and spied the unearthed patch of dirt to the side of the garage, it brought a smile to my face.

I got into the motorcar and headed off to work, knowing the day ahead would not be a good one, but praying that it would be the very best it could be.

The day was overcast and gloomy for spring, but perfect for Esme and I. As I drove to Cambridge, I was filled with the same guilty feelings of longing and regret, wondering why it was that I felt as though I could not share the worries plaguing my mind and heart with my wife, but whenever I tried to visualise a scene in which I told her all that was going around in my head, I could see her eyes that had regained so much light, quickly dimming and dulling as she worried for me. I couldn't bear to re-break her heart so soon after she'd learned how to live with cracks down her intraventricular septum.

When I arrived at the hospital, I parked the motorcar out the front and slowly wandered on in. I was a few minutes early, but that was always good. I bode good morning to a few of the nurses who slowly packed up their belongings ready for the morning changeover, while I continued down the quiet halls to the trauma area.

Our little waiting room was empty when I arrived, so I stowed away my belongings, made myself a cup of coffee that I would pretend to drink, and sat down on one of the chairs to read through the medical journals I was behind on.

Scurrying footsteps alerted me to impending company just moments later, but they weren't footsteps that I was familiar with. Soon, in the open door appeared a young boy I'd never met before.

"Oh," he murmured, looking around the mostly empty room, "I was looking for Doctor Murphy?"

I smiled, "I'm sorry…"

His previously furrowed brown eyebrows that framed his hazel eyes relaxed, and he gave a me a little smile, "Arthur, I work in the morgue."

"Arthur," I smiled, "He's not here. My name is Doctor Cullen, is there anything I can help you with?" I wondered, as the boy visibly relaxed even more.

Arthur shook his head, "No, Doctor Anderson just wanted a word with Doctor Murphy about something that happened with a Nurse last night, but I don't know anything else. I'll just tell him that Doctor Murphy wasn't here. Thank you, Doctor Cullen." Doctor Anderson must have been the man I knew as Trevor, the ME.

"You're welcome Arthur. Tell me, though, before you go, do you know what happened to the boy who worked here before you?"

Arthur had begun to turn around in the doorway but he stopped and considered my question, "Oh, yes. He moved back to the Midwest, Indiana, or somewhere like that, for family reasons. His sister was sickly, or she passed away. I'm not entirely sure…"

I nodded, and smiled, "Thank you, Arthur."

"You're welcome Doctor, if Doctor Murphy comes back, would you tell him Doctor Anderson is looking for him?" The boy wondered.

I nodded, "Of course. Good day."

"Good day," he murmured before turning around and scurrying back away.

I turned back to my article on Duodenal Atresia and Stenosis in Infancy, when just mere moments later footsteps that I did happen to recognise made their way toward the waiting room. Doctor Murphy appeared in the doorway with his usual sardonic smirk upon his face, and perfectly groomed ink black hair, but something extra glistened in his grey eyes, something wicked, it looked like.

"Cullen," he grinned as he walked in the door, "How is this morning treating you?"

I gave him my usual tight smile; trying to be friendly to my boss while harbouring a handful of hostile feelings toward him, and replied back, "Very well, thank you, and yourself?"

His grin widened, "Delightfully."

He wandered over to the kitchen and made himself a pot of coffee that didn't smell much like whiskey for once, and I began to wonder if he'd begun to change. Perhaps he'd given up the drinking, in exchange for a better path to walk down. Perhaps the maliciousness, the wickedness, I saw therein his eyes was just an illusion of my mind, deceived by previous prejudice.

Giving him the benefit of the doubt, I turned around and gave him a genuine small smile, "Young Arthur was looking for you. The boy who works for the ME."

His brow furrowed, and he looked most unhappy about this, "Why?"

"He said Doctor Anderson wanted a word," I replied simply, looking back down at my journal when his glance turned into a glare.

"Of course he does, the old dingbat." He muttered, taking a loud sip of liquid from his cup. "Say Cullen," his voice was softer, curious.

"Yes?" I looked back up at him wondering what he'd want. His face a brief mask of innocence, soon morphed into a horrid sneer.

"If he said anything about me, and I hear that you've spread things around the hospital, I will destroy you, you hear me?"

Slightly baffled at what on Earth he could mean, I nodded, "Of course." Then once again, turned back to my journal, as Murphy returned to his coffee, muttering a slew of horrid names under his breath about Doctor Anderson.

The rest of the team arrived not long after, bar Nurse Louise who was off sick. We had Nurse Laura instead, having been released from hospital all well and good after her nasty run in with the sedative.

As it often could be with trauma surgery, the wait for a patient to come in was long. For six hours we mulled around our waiting room, finishing reports, reading journals, chatting over days, cases, stories, anything and everything we could think of to pass the time.

Naturally I gravitated back to reading my poem, which Murphy had a good old giggle about, not that it bothered me in the slightest. Nurse Laura was a quiet girl, who didn't move a muscle unless Mary moved one too. The elderly woman flicked me smiles every once in a while from the other side of the room. I tried to return them genuinely, but it wasn't the easiest thing to do.

Finally after six and a half hours waiting, four patients came in at the same time. We assessed the injuries and began on he who had the worst of all. After a quick x-ray to survey the damage, we prepped for the operating room.

We were all donning our gloves and gowns when Murphy muttered something that through me off balance, "The patient is suffering major internal bleeding from his fall off the roof of a building." He paused for a moment as he buttoned up his coat, "Well, I say fall, but I mean jump. His wife just told him she wanted a divorce." Murphy's sardonic grin turned the corner of one side of his mouth upward. His beady eyes then turned to me, as I slid my second glove onto my hands.

"That'll be Cullen soon everyone," four pairs of eyes looked to him quizzically, and so he laughed, "Oh come on, look at that face. Obviously his wife is unhappy with him. Poor Cullen, you get the good one but you just can't keep her. You know who I blame?" He wondered, his grin widening, "I blame me. The women just can't resist me!" He laughed as he glanced over to Mary and Laura, who ignored him, and then he turned his back and marched on into the room.

At first I was angry, that's he'd even talk about Esme, but soon something else took over the anger... pain. It took me a moment to catch my breath, and battle away the pain that bogged down my heart. I knew when I returned home, I would say a 'Hello' from the foyer, and she would murmur the greeting back from her attic art room. Then, I'd go to the study and pour over my things, and if I was lucky, she'd wander downstairs after a few hours, and curl up on one of the seats in the middle of the room. If it had been a good day, she'd talk, but if it had been a bad day, she'd just sit there. If it had been a truly hard day, she may sob a little, and I would wrap her in my arms and comfort her. Providing her with comfort always gave me a reason to be strong, but if she didn't need me then I was back to square one, slowly drowning in the ocean she once told me about. Bobbing up and down in the waves, sometimes being pulled under, sometimes struggling to breathe, and it was getting harder and harder, trying to find a way to be stronger even when she didn't need me.

I took a deep breath and marched on into that operating room, leaving all my problems at the door. This was not about me, I was here to try and save a life. My own could wait until later.

Esme once told me that she had always thought that pain and time were like magnets, where one went, the other would invariably have to follow sooner or later. 'The thing about time is that it passes,' she'd said, 'so naturally as magnets do, pain follows, but sometimes it takes a long time to go.' That single memory of sitting in the attic of our Ashland home as she sobbed those words to me, sopping wet from the storm, was the one thing that resounded it my head, and it was an unlikely source of strength to help me manage what we were left with.

* * *

 _A.N. Thank you all once again for your lovely reviews, I really enjoy your feedback! Especially on these sadder chapters, because I do find them a little more challenging to write. In fact, this one sat in my 'Documents' Folder on Fan Fiction for a little while, waiting to be edited, purely because I'm not a fan of writing these more sombre chapters. Also, possibly because too much of Esme's mental 'voice' leeched into Carlisle's for some reason, usually I can separate them in my head while I'm writing, but lately they've been so similar it's hard to pick out what Esme would think, and what Carlisle would think._

 _Trying to think of other things I wanted to mention… Carlisle's analysis of the poem isn't explored fully in this chapter (he analysed it for a_ very _long time) but it will come up again later in the story for those of you who may think he's missed a blaringly obvious point (which wasn't actually the reason I chose the poem, but is totally the reason I'm now glad I did). The article Carlisle was reading is '_ Duodenal Atresia and Stenosis in Infancy' _from the New England Journal of Medicine Volume 196 Number 19, published on the 12th of May 1927, if duodenal atresia and stenosis in infancy interests you at all ;)_

 _Next chapter…There won't be a large lot of time covered, like these past two chapters have. Carlisle and Esme are finally going to have a fight/disagreement/argument. Then, we're going back to check up on Edward in chapter eleven, which will then bring us to chapter twelve, which was actually the very first scene I ever imagined for this story, and also the reason I decided to do a story on Edward's departure! Strange how things come to you!_

 _Thanks for reading!_


	10. Cognitive Dissonance

_Chapter Ten: Cognitive Dissonance_

 _Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1927_

 _Esme_

Cambridge City Hall was a large, three-level tan and brown building that sat on a slight hill, with lovely green grass spaces either side of the steps that led to the entrance at the bottom of a giant clock tower, which reached further into the cloudy sky than any other part of any other building around it. There were few people around as I walked up the grey steps toward the entrance, where the American flag flew proudly in the wind.

The trees by the sidewalk caught my eye as a lone orange leaf blew around and around before it fell to the floor, reminding me that September had brought the end of summer, and the beginning of autumn.

May had brought a little more peace to our world, and June had sustained it. July had tried to bring more peace to the rest of the world, as the German Reichstag succumbed to pressure from the Allied forces and passed a law prohibiting the import and export of war materials, but the National Socialist Workers Party steadily grew and began to propose a threat to that peace. I only knew this because Carlisle watched on to the international news with great interest, while I preferred the domestic papers. August saw workers start chipping into a mountain in South Dakota where four previous presidents were set to become a monument, and much to worldwide dismay, September brought the death of two accused murders by electric chair here in Massachusetts. It wasn't the day to day happenings of the human world that had me turning the pages of the news however, as horrid as it may seem, I looked to the news to see if I could find any trace of Edward. It was morbid and alarming that I looked for stray reports on mysterious killings in the country, and I knew I'd never find any because I knew he'd be careful, but I wanted to know that he was safe. He could have met a nomadic newborn in the middle of a frenzy and been ripped to pieces, he could have strayed too far south and got mixed up in the fighting and been burned alive, he could have… oh, I couldn't think of things like that. I just had to believe that he'd keep his wits about him, and stay safe.

So, slowly, as the months went passed and brought new ones, the summer sun made my smile a little stronger, and made it stay for a little longer. It felt natural to progress from the dreary blacks I'd taken to wearing, to darker shades of blues and purples, I wasn't yet to oranges or yellows, but the point of the matter was that I was getting there. With the new season I decided to make new decisions. I took up night classes over summer, changed my major to architecture, and turned my interest back to making our house of horrors, a home of healing. Which was exactly the reason I found myself at City Hall one September morning.

Through the large double doors, I walked into the foyer, and found a line to stand in. The lack of open windows made the air smell strongly of delectable human, but I'd hunted just the day before, and the haze of bloodlust remained at bay. The wait in line wasn't long, but as I waited I gazed around at the lovely foyer, admiring the architecture, and feeling the tingling excitement when I realised that maybe I could design a beautiful building like that some day.

"Next, please!" The man behind the counter called out. I turned around abruptly, smiled and walked forward.

The man who waited for me with a pleasant, yet expectant smile upon his face looked to be rapidly approaching his seventies. His hair was cropped short, he was cleanly shaven, and he had the posture of a person who had spent a great deal of his life in service.

"How may I help you today?" He wondered as I reached the desk.

"I was wondering if I could find the floor plans for a house here in Cambridge. Do you keep them?" I asked, but he was nodding before I finished.

"Down the left hall, the first door to the right, there's the permit archive room. The manager will tell you if the particular floor plans you're looking for are held. Will there be anything else?" He spoke quickly without much of a break between sentences.

I merely smiled and shook my head, then thanked him and wandered down the hall. Upon the first door to the right, down the left hall, were golden letters upon a frosted glass panel, reading _Permit Archives_. I knocked gently upon the wood beneath the glass - although I had mastered my vampiric strength rather well, there were some things I was still dubious about doing, like knocking on glass, all too easily could it shatter and people would wonder how a simple knock from a person like me could send an entire glass pane shattering to the floor in tiny pieces, and Carlisle and I would have to leave, but we couldn't leave, what if Edward wanted to find us again? What if he changed his mind?

"Come in!" Came a man's voice from the other side of the door, and so I gently turned the brass knob and pushed the door open. The room inside smelled of old paper, filled from the floor to the ceiling with large storage units and piles upon piles of dust. To a human, I'd assume the room looked rather clean and well-kempt, but my vampire eyes caught every single mote upon every single surface, in every single corner and riddled throughout the air. I wanted to wave it out of my face but no doubt that would look strange to a human.

Scuffling feet approached from behind one of the large storage cabinets, and soon an old man who looked just as dusty as the rest of the room appeared from its depths. He was covered in wrinkles, the telltale sign of age, and filled with eagerness from his bright curious eyes, and his expectant smile, all the way to his hands poised in front of him, ready to help.

"Hello there, dear," he grinned, shuffling forward, making a loud sweeping noise on the scratched wood floor with his shoes, "What can I do for you on this fine, fine day?"

I smiled, "I was looking for some plans, actually, for a house just on the outskirts of town. I was wondering if you would have them?"

His grin spread as he nodded, "We should, yes. How old would you say the house is?"

I gave a little shrug, trying to estimate, "Forty years, perhaps, maybe more? It's in a bad way, it's hard to tell."

He cocked his head to the side and shuffled over to a cabinet on the other side of the room, "I think I may know of the house you're talking about. On the outskirts of town, you say? Does it, by any chance, have two extensions tacked on to its sides?"

He flicked a glance at me over his shoulder so I nodded, "It does."

He beamed, "Ah ha! I know just the one. We had two of the previous owners coming in here asking for the same plans so they could build the extensions. The first lot didn't seem like they knew what they were doing a great deal, but the other two had a better idea." He opened a draw which squealed in protest, and told me "Come over here, dear, I'll find them."

The room was messy, in no way well organised, but I had a feeling that it was organised to him. I carefully navigated my way around piles upon piles of paper, disturbing the dust motes, and sending them into even more disarray in the air.

"Here!" The man announced as he pulled out a file, "I've found them," he spun around and grinned.

I managed to make it passed all the mess, and follow him to a table nearby, where he pushed off all of the paper that had previously occupied the space.

"These are the originals," he murmured, spreading out a large plan for a house I knew well, then next to it he spread out another, "The plans for the first extension, and the plans for the second extension." He finally placed the third to the left of the house before looking up to grin at me, "Not building another one are you?"

I laughed and shook my head, "Not at all. The first is crumbling to pieces, so I'll have to fix it, and the second is so different to the rest of the house. I'm planning to take down a few walls here and there, but nothing too drastic, and no new construction."

He eyed me with great curiosity, as his bushy little eyebrows pulled together. This man must have been a good foot shorter than me in my heels, and he had to look up to see my face, "And uh," he cleared his throat in uncertainty, "You would be planning this yourself, ma'am?"

Amusement tickled the corners of my mouth into turning up at the sides, "Indeed. I study architecture at MIT."

His knitted eyebrows shot upwards as his eyes opened wide in surprise, for a moment he stared at me with that same expression then cleared his throat and composed himself, "But a fine young woman like yourself should have a husband."

"I do," I stated simply in reply, "He's a doctor and the general hospital, and a teacher at Harvard."

"Oh," he murmured quietly to himself, his eyes falling back down to the plans, "In that case, it sounds like a swell idea to start learning your trade on your own house, ma'am…" He looked up to me with curiosity once again, "This is your house, is it not?"

"It is," I nodded with a smile, "How much would it cost for a copy of these plans?" I wondered.

He laughed to himself briefly, "We happen to have quite a few copies of these particular plans, dear." He folded the plans back up along their creases, and then moved to hand them to me, "So no cost, have these."

"Are you quite sure?" I wondered, gingerly taking the thin paper from the kind old man.

He nodded, "In my sixty years here, my dear, never have I seen a house that has been tampered with so much. It will do the poor thing good to be fixed."

"Then, thank you," I smiled, tucking the paper securely in my bag, "I best be off, good-day."

"Good-day," he smiled and waved me out, while I navigated the mess once more.

I closed the door behind me, glad to be out of the dusty room, and headed back down the hall. The fresh air caressed my face with beautiful briskness when I made my way back outside, and I could help the tiny smile that spread across my lips, thinking of how well my day was going.

I walked down the streets back toward school, where I had class in ten or so minutes. It was professor Turner's building design class, one that I was rather enjoying. I was glad to be out of Martins' art torture, but my change of major had yet to deter Mrs. Parker from finding me during my breaks and begging me to attended one of her do's.

I was so close to accepting just so she would stop asking, but I knew Carlisle would not be in the mood for a party, even thought he'd attend if I asked him to.

I sighed at that thought, while walking down a busy street only two blocks from the hospital, Carlisle was still painfully distant, not physically, but emotionally. I struggled to crack into that beautiful brain of his. I was nothing if not trying though, and continue trying is what I would do.

When I made it back to school, where I had parked the car, I headed straight to my final class of the day. I'd had two lectures earlier in the morning, but this workshop was the only thing that occupied my afternoon.

Professor Turner, in his usual tweed suit, discussed his topic with passion and wit all the while his red moustached twitched as he spoke, occasionally making me smile. At the end of the class I packed up my things slowly, and waited for all of the students to leave the room. I walked from my spot up the back to his desk in the front, where he was bent over looking for something.

It had always been him seeking me out, but for the first time, I decided that I must stay behind, for I had a favour to ask of him.

"Excuse me, Professor Turner?" I murmured shyly.

He looked up, and his eyes widened when he saw me standing there waiting for him. "Mrs. Cullen," he seemed surprised, and in fact, delighted, "What can I help you with?"

"Well, I was wondering if you had any spare time today, or tomorrow perhaps, to give me a little help with reading some plans I picked up for my house? It's a little worse for wear and I'm slowly repairing it, but I want to make some structural changes I'm not entirely sure of."

For a moment his face was completely blank, but suddenly a brilliant smile blossomed upon it, "Yes! Of course. I would be very happy to help, as it is, I don't have another class for a few hours, if you'd like to discuss it now? My office isn't too far away."

I nodded with a smile, "Thank you, sir. That would be great."

We headed off to his office, mostly in silence, but he did inquire as to how I was finding his course. I told him the truth; I loved it.

When we reached his office, he ushered me inside, and cleared off his desk so I could spread the plans upon them.

"Ooh," he murmured, when he saw the house, "I was expecting blueprints, oh and how peculiar," he breathed as he examined the extentions.

We spent the next few hours pouring over the footprint of the house, the extensions, the exterior, the roofing, everything. He had wonderful insights and recommendations as to what I should do, by the time we packed up, I was feeling inspired enough to start my plan as soon as I got home.

I needed to fix the kitchen and dining room as soon as possible, whomever built it, didn't build it very well. As I folded the plans and put them in my bag once more, I thanked the redheaded Professor in his tweed suit, and he invited me to ask any other questions whenever I so desired.

Just before I opened the door, Professor Turner called my name, "Mrs Cullen?" His voice was soft, uncertain.

I turned around to face him, "Yes?" I wondered.

His eyes flicked to his shoes, and he shuffled his feet a little before looking back up to me, "I know I'm, uh..." he cleared his throat nervously, and played with his hands. His next words came out in a jumble, "Out of line, but, it's good to see you happy again." He nodded to himself, and slowed down, "Your brother would have wanted that."

I gave him a slight smile, and turned the doorknob, "Thank you, Professor."

"Yes, well, you're welcome." He turned back to the desk in front of him and murmured, "Goodbye, now."

"Goodbye," I replied, half out the door.

My heart was a little heavy as I walked across the grass to where I parked the motorcar, and as I hopped inside and turned it on, my mind was with Edward, wherever he may be. I hoped he was happy, whatever he was doing.

When I pulled off the road and onto our driveway some time later, I was still away with the fairies thinking about Edward. It wasn't until I swerved through all of the trees and caught sight of the ghastly house of horrors, with it's crumbling kitchen/dining room addition, that I could think of something else aside from my son. I really needed to start work on that roof; it looked as though it was about to fall to pieces. I could see a thousand and one patches of rust on the intermittent pieces of tin someone had placed where the tiles had fallen off, and vines were filling the spouting. I parked the motorcar in the garage, and grabbed my bag before heading inside. The peaceful autumn day turned our front garden into a beautiful place. The orange and yellow leaves floated quietly to the ground landing with slight thuds only perceptible to the best of ears, and the river nearby rushed and crashed its way to the sea. I loved living by water; the sound was one of the most calming noises I'd ever heard. My vegetable garden lay near the river edge, in full bloom with the final foods of the season flourishing, almost ready to be picked. With Carlisle distant all the time, and Edward gone, I needed something that needed me to care for it, so vegetables seemed like the best idea. It also meant fewer trips to the grocery store where Edward's memory still lingered around the counters, and it meant that the charities we donated to got the freshest produce available. It made me feel useful and in a way, it made me feel more human. I'd come to find, in the many hours sitting alone by the window, in front of my easel with a paintbrush, and a canvas, thinking silently to myself, that it was easier to resist the temptation of humans when you felt more human yourself. No wonder Carlisle had always acted so mortal.

Once I got inside the sound of the rushing water nearby was muted, and the silence of an empty building took over. I stopped into the study to open the windows, and the fresh air barrelled in bringing with it the sound of the gushing water that I so dearly enjoyed. I sighed, and with a small peaceful smile, I continued around the house, opening windows. I was yet to muster up the courage to enter Edward's piano room, or to open any windows in his bedroom, so I left those two doors firmly closed.

On the third floor in the room beside Carlisle's and mine, where we stored all of our clothes, I began to dream of improvements I could make to the room. If I put a dividing wall, and separated the room into two, I could run pluming up and morph one half into an ensuite, and the other half into a proper closet. That was a plan I'd have to draw and discuss with Professor Turner. I valued his opinion greatly. I changed into some older clothes, ones I didn't mind getting dirty if it came to that, and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I began to tie up my hair.

The golden eyes of the woman in the mirror were not nearly as bright as they once had been, but they sparkled in the light that poured through the windows behind her. She smiled slightly, while tucking her caramel hair into a messy bun to keep it out of the way. Having hunted just yesterday, there were no rings around her eyes, and so her flawless skin was perfectly white. It was obvious that she was different, odd that no blush covered her cheeks, and yet it was hard to pull out these strange oddities upon first glance because all one ever noticed was the unnatural beauty she possessed.

I remembered distinctly, the very first time I ever saw my vampiric reflection, it was in the glass of my Ashland bedroom, and the only thing I noticed were my scarlet eyes. Those scarlet eyes that Edward would most likely be sporting, those scarlet eyes I would most likely never see Carlisle with.

I remembered Carlisle telling me about the time he first saw the red eyes after his transformation and how he felt disgusted, but it occurred to me as I stared at my golden orbs, that he'd never told me how he felt when he first saw the changes that drinking animal blood made. In fact, it was all very well to say that he felt disgusted at the red, but rarely ever are emotions so straightforward and simple, especially as a newborn. Newborn emotions are a plethora of feelings, they're layers upon layers of the most confusing things. When had Carlisle ever detailed that to me? When had Carlisle ever detailed to me how he felt? There had been times when he was sad, it felt as though he was on the brink of sobs, but he'd never let down that strong exterior like I had. Nor had he ever outright told me how something made him feel, sure, he told me he loved me, and that I made him happy, but that was about it. Countless times I had deciphered his emotions through little hints from Edward, and now that Edward was gone we were… The woman in the mirror looked dumbfounded, her lips were slightly ajar as her chest rose and fell quickly while she breathed. Her eyes were wild and somewhat heartbroken, and she began to shake her head. …We were still falling apart.

In the beginning, I thought the reason we weren't working after Edward left was partly my fault, partly his, then I thought it was just all mine, and I had to become better at dealing with my pain so he and I could get better again. Yet, I had been right the first time. It wasn't just me. It was him too.

Some kind of anger in my stomach boiled the venom there, and filled me with a quiet determination. I felt an all-consuming need to fix things, and I didn't mean fix the house like I had planned to that day, I meant fix my life. Starting with me. Before I could face Carlisle, I had to face a fear of my own. I had to break down every door that was separating me from him.

The woman in the mirror had blazing eyes, before she disappeared out of sight, as I marched to the door. I let it swing behind me as I barrelled down the stairs, taking them three at a time. When I reached the bottom floor, I walked straight down the hall, into the living room and across its length to the white double doors that would open to Edward's piano.

With a deep breath, I placed a hand on each of the handles, and squeezed my eyes shut tightly before gently throwing the doors open. When my eyelids lifted up, the brightness of the room stunned me for a moment, as the greying light outside flooded through the windows and shined upon the perfectly polished piano scantly scattered with dust. There was not a single remnant of Edward's scent in the room, for little had he played since we arrived in Massachusetts, yet there was something so profoundly personal about the piano, that the simple structure pierced through my heart like a powerful sword.

I took a brave breath, however and made my way in, gingerly reaching out for the shiny black surface as soon as I came close enough. Not quite sure exactly what I was going to do having broken down that final barrier which had been haunting me for months, I walked around the bench and slowly sat down. I ran my hands along the lid, cherishing the feeling of the smooth wood beneath my fingers, before, on a complete whim, I opened it. To my great surprise, sitting atop the red strip of fabric there to protect the keys, was a single monochrome photograph.

I remembered the day it was taken as if it had happened just yesterday. It was taken on the northern shores of Lake Superior, after the boys had managed to fix the car during a journey of ours. As I cautiously picked it up, the memory stole my mind and with it took the breath from my lungs.

 _We filed back into the car and continued along the road. Night fell a short time later, and the third advantage to our day-long stop became apparent, for as we rounded a corner from a stretch of road that was surrounded by particularly dense bush, the most beautiful sight of Lake Superior was ahead, and above it the sky was green._

 _A loud gasp escaped my lips as I leaned forward in my seat. Edward let out an excited laugh, and I could just imagine Carlisle's grin._

" _Well, aren't we lucky?" He let out a chuckle._

" _They're extraordinary," I murmured, as I tried to memorise the green lines, which danced with some red ones too._

" _Can we pull over?" Edward wondered._

 _Carlisle nodded, and guided the car to the edge of the road once more. In my haste to get outside, I nearly pushed Edward out of the car._

 _He laughed, "Patience is a virtue, Esme!"_

" _Nonsense," I shook my head, "I'm all ready married, I need not bother with all of that."_

 _Carlisle's booming laughter echoed throughout the whole night, and I was almost irrationally afraid that he would scare away the startling lights in the sky. Edward's laughter joined in, as he gazed at me with utter fondness, and squeezed my hand in his. My spirits soared with the Northern Lights above, as I looked between the smiles of the two men I loved._

" _Let's get closer to the water!" Edward exclaimed, as he pulled my hand._

 _I nodded, and ran forward, as Carlisle fished in the car for something. We were nearly at the bushes by the shores of the lake when Carlisle called out our names._

" _Esme! Edward!" He was still by the car as Edward tugged at my hand some more. The young boy laughed as we turned our heads only to be met by the flash of the camera and my husband's jubilant laugh._

That single moment of complete and utter happiness captured in the photograph with Edward's and my beaming smiles wrecked my heart like no other thing had. Why did he have to leave these reminders everywhere? I was finding messages every single place I looked, except I wasn't looking, nor asking for them. What if I didn't want to be reminded of all of those times because I remembered them all too well without these little tokens to torture me? Did Edward think about that? Why would he put something like that some place like this? Surely he would have realised how much of a challenge it would be for me to open those door and sit at his piano. Why put such a painful thing like such a beautiful memory there for me to find once I'd mustered up the bravery to look? Was it his idea of a trophy, like the book he sent after Charles' death?

Red, hot, all consuming anger coursed through me, as the final straw slipped from my grasp. Acting as if I was okay, and trying to be that way, was just too much, especially when Carlisle didn't even bother. He pretended that he possessed a strength not possible for someone with such a soft heart has his to be capable of. He couldn't be as unfeeling as he was pretending to be, because that wasn't the man that I married. The man I married was soft and kind, and compassionate. He was neither distant nor cold. So why was he acting as if nothing was wrong when I knew very well that everything was?

I couldn't bear to look at the smiles on our faces in the picture, so with a bought of anger I turned it over and placed it down on the keys, which protested with a horrible noise, but much to my surprise there was something written upon the back of that photograph. Yes, written there in the perfect cursive that I knew and loved so well, were two simple words: _Be happy._

In such a fashion only comparable to that first year of my vampire life, my mood switched suddenly, and the anger directed at my son was blown from my body by the soft breeze that flowed into the room – he wasn't trying to make me upset, he was trying to make me better.

My head fell into my hands as sobs began to rattle my chest. I had truly reached wits end. I couldn't tell if my anger was even justified. Did I have any right to be so unforgivably angry with the son and the man I loved? The logical and rational part of my mind was telling me that Carlisle would reveal to me how he felt when he felt the need to do so. It was in no way my role or position to pester him when he did not want to be pestered. Yet, a corner of my heart was flaming with fury. That little corner of my heart belonged to the little corner of my mind that told me to do reckless things… like climb trees, and dream wild dreams, and run from scary things, and jump from great heights, and speak words of truth even when I was scared the truth wouldn't work.

It occurred to me, sitting there with my head in my hands on Edward's abandoned piano bench that ten years ago I never would have even noticed that little corner of my heart and mind, and if I had, it would have been dismissed immediately. But the person I was ten years ago was not the person who was sitting on that bench in the fading light of day. The person I had been ten years before, cowered in corners, and the person I had grown to be, rose from darkness. The reason I had made it to where I was, was solely because I had listened to that utterly mad little voice in the back of my mind, and I had taken great risks, and I had grown to be brave. So was my fury justified?

I had to look at it differently; I had to look at it as if I were him. If I were Carlisle Cullen, someone quiet, and courageous, someone constant, and kind, someone filled to the brim with beautiful faith, someone caring and compassionate, what would be my main priority after losing my son? The answer was blaringly and blindingly obvious. It would be my wife.

When I realised that, it felt like my lungs had suddenly shrunk in my chest, and jammed into a small compartment never again allowed to expand. I choked on the air I didn't need, sobbing and silently screaming because I had neglected to fully see the extent of his pain, all the while trying to convince myself the sole reason for the anger I felt toward him was caused only by his lack of emotion when truly, a small part of me was so mad at him for playing a part in why Edward left. If Carlisle hadn't fought with Edward, Edward might still be with us. My son might be sitting where I sat, my husband might still hold me and look at me like nothing in the entire world mattered but the happiness we shared, like no weight was heavy enough to bring us down. I had thought we were at risk of drowning in figurative ocean, but really, in truth, we were buried underneath the bottom of the sea. There were weights heavy enough to bring us down, and yet in the complete despair that raged through my body, I couldn't help but feel a flicker of triumph. I loved him. I loved him so much. I was in pain, and I was mad at him, but that couldn't change the fact that I loved him. I was angry that he fought with Edward, and he hid how he felt from me. I was angry with myself because I had never noticed how he rarely ever told me how things made him feel, and I was angry at… I was just angry. It had gone on for far too long, but no longer. No longer would it continue. I could be brave, I could tell him everything. After all, it was me who first admitted my feelings, he'd doubted his too much. I should have seen that earlier, I should have taken that as a sign, he'd spent so long alone without anyone caring about him, of course it would be hard to open up all of a sudden.

I pulled my head out of my hands, noticing that the sun had dropped beneath the tips of the trees turning the landscape dark, and took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. I still shuddered and shook a little, but I sobbed no more. I had a resolve… but my resolve had a few conditions. The logical voice of reason in my mind itched away, as I wondered if perhaps I was making a bigger deal of things than I needed to. I resolved to wait until he arrived home, to see how things were, to let my mind remain unmade, and to let him make it for me.

I slowly got up off the bench and wandered back into the living room, not bothering to close the piano doors, but making sure I took Edward's note with me. I caught a glimpse of the clock telling me that it wouldn't be long until Carlisle was home, assuming he hadn't been held up. So, I went upstairs and changed out of my work clothes, there was no way I was getting the roof of the kitchen fixed in my emotionally shaky state.

I fretted for a short while, worrying about how the evening would come to pass, but I managed to calm myself down by the time I heard his tires on the driveway. I planned to be gentle, to listen carefully, and to be compassionate as he would be.

He zoomed down the driveway at his usual speed, and parked in the garage. He shut his door quietly and sprinted across the grass, up the steps and in through the door, and I listened carefully from the third floor, keeping my calm smile upon my lips. But when he entered the house, he walked straight into the study without calling his usual greeting. The smile upon my lips fell off, as my brow furrowed; that was unusual.

Shrugging it off, I called out "Hello," from the second floor, but there came no reply.

Slightly stunned, I sat for a moment trying to figure out if I was imagining his lack of reply or if it was truly happening. When I realised that it was no trick of my own mind, the fever in the furious fraction of my heart spread it's heat, leaking like liquid through my venom filed veins, out from my heart to my feet and my hands and my head. I thought things were bad before, but this was taking it to a whole new level. He didn't even say 'Hello.'

So the anger returned to my system and effectively ended my resolve to leave him alone and be peaceful and be quiet, I needed this to end. As I stood from my spot and marched down the stairs I felt more awake than I had in months. I was wrong to think that I had no place probing into his head; this lack of life had gone on long enough. I was well aware, as I marched down the stairs, that my spirited feelings weren't the best things to approach him with, especially not when he was still grieving, but we'd avoided each others feelings for a such a long time, it maybe just might serve as a wake up. When I reached the ground floor, I missed not a beat as I marched to the door of the study. It was closed but I opened it without a knock. He was sitting at his desk writing something, but he didn't look up as I entered. The furious fire fervently boiled hotter and hotter and hotter.

I stood in the doorway for a moment, focusing all control on my voice box, as I let out a nice and calm "Hello."

He took a deep breath but did not look up, he only paused his writing briefly to reply with a slightly exasperated "Hello."

My teeth ground together in annoyance at his tone, and I walked forward into the room. But as I took my first step I hesitated, apprehension began to twist my stomach, and my legs ached to run away. But never before had my husband given me any reason to fear him, so I managed to take the first step and then I soldiered on.

I came to a stop directly in front of his desk. He hadn't bothered to switch on the light, nor did he bother to look up when I came to a stop. "How was your day?" I wondered as pleasantly as possible.

He didn't pause this time, but his teeth clenched together again, then he muttered, "Morbid."

That halted me for a moment, as a string of very unladylike words ran through my heads while I tried to think of reasons I shouldn't let my anger go. Now was really not the right time to have the discussion I wanted to have. He had a bad day. I should be comforting him, not trying to sort things out…. But then again, sorting things out would make it better in the long run.

Softly I wondered, "Would you like to talk about it?'

His reply was hard a firm and most unlike him, "Not particularly."

It relit the furnace of fury simmering in my heart, and I decided all though there was probably no worse time to have the talk I wanted to have, I was going to initiate it, "We'll I'd like to talk about it." I told him firmly. Still, half of me wanted to run away and cower in the corner, while the other half was fixated on rising from the darkness.

My probing seemed to have had a slight effect though, for he did, that time, pause, "It doesn't concern you." He didn't look up at me though, and so I took that as a sign he was desperately crying out for help on the inside. Yet, I was more offended at his tone.

"Well now," I spoke without thinking, "That's just rude."

That took him by surprise. He looked up at me with wide, dark, and incredulous eyes, "Rude?"

"Yes." I replied firmly, trying my best not to whimper the word. I'd gone too far to change my mind now, so I continued on, faking confidence by letting a little frustration seep into my voice, "In case you haven't noticed, I'm your wife, and wether you intend them to or not, your emotions do concern me. So out with it."

There was a beat of silence. He stared at me in shock with anger in his eyes. My breath caught in my throat, and I recoiled slightly. There was something on the edge of my memory telling me I knew this moment. This lull when I'd gone to far, and words were about to turn into furniture hurtling across the room toward me. Every fibre in my body told me run. Every little fibre… aside from _one_. The angry eyes that bore into mine from across the wooden desk were not the angry eyes that I feared; they were the angry eyes I loved. And even though ninety-nine percent of me braced for the impact, that little once percent was the reason I didn't run, and the reason I wasn't surprised when the man across the desk from me reacted to my words with a simple, incredulous, "Excuse me?"

The next brief pause we experienced was caused by me, as I heard a voice in my head saying _See? Safe._ Something settled inside of me, I realised I didn't need to be brave with him, I needed to be _true_. I needed to be raw and broken and hurting so much I couldn't breathe, so that we could be raw and broken _together_. With that realisation, bravery did not come, but confidence and honesty did, "For the first time in your life Carlisle, tell somebody how you feel." I very nearly begged, no anger in my veins.

His brown furrowed, and I wondered if he could feel the change in atmosphere like I did, I wondered if he could sense the absence of my fear, "What exactly bought this on?" His pain and annoyance had him reverting back to his native accent, and yet he hadn't gone back to his native tongue, which was a good sign.

"Well if you must know," I replied strongly with candour, "I found something Edward left behind and it upset me."

Another brief pause consumed us as I watched him carefully, slowly the rigidity in his posture relaxed into defeat, the anger in his eyes switched to concern and compassion, the frown on his face melted into sympathy, and he breathed with heartfelt sorrow, "Esme, I'm sorry."

Those emotions may have been the emotions I wanted, but not for the reason I wanted. I shook my head profusely, "Don't do that!" I told him.

His brown furrowed, "Do what?"

"Act as if it's only me that's hurting!" Suddenly I was yelling, I took a deep breath to calm myself down, as he sunk back into his usual passive stance.

"Well, I'm not the one who found this… thing," he reasoned carefully waving his hand about in the year.

"No," I agreed, "But you did have a morbid day, so it's not just me in a bad mood."

With scant sorrow still in his eyes, his jaw clenched, and after a moment, he muttered, "Then, if _you_ must know, a man lost both his son and wife in an accident today, I can't help but draw parallels to my own life."

There it was. The admission I'd been waiting for. "So you are hurting?" I exclaimed with relief.

The corners of his eyebrows pulled down, and his mouth turned into a frown, "Of course I'm hurting!" He exclaimed, louder than I expected, but it didn't startle me, it only fuelled the reason and passion in my bones.

"Well you're doing an awful job of showing it!" I told him.

"Losing a son is a first for me, Esme. I am not sure how to deal with it." He curled his hand into a fist, crushing whatever writing implement he'd been grasping, as he leaned back in his chair, looking up at me with a mixture of anger and pain written all over his face.

"Well, it's not a first for me, Carlisle." I spoke while shaking my head, "And I'll tell you, it doesn't get any easier."

His jaw clenched once again, but he didn't let go of the crushed fragments in his fist. He looked away and with a shake of his head he muttered, "You seem to have found a way of coping that I am yet to discover."

"Yes." I agreed without emotion, before I breathed, "I told you how I felt." His eyes came back to mine, boring into them with sad curiosity, "But we both know you can't seem to tell me how you feel. Do you not trust me?" I wondered quietly, "Do you think I won't understand?"

His eyebrows pulled down at the sides once more, and he shook his head. His jaw clenched and unclenched a few times, as my hopes grew thinking he might be ready to tell me. My hopes however, fell quite quickly, when he let the crumbled remnants of a lead pencil fall onto his desk and spoke with passion, his eyes desperately imploring me to understand, "I do not want to hurt you!"

My high hopes falling to the ground and shattering in a million pieces caused me to yell, " _You have_!"

"Do we really need to do this now?" He replied back with as much fervour.

"Yes!" I insisted immediately, not shying from his loud voice in the slightest, "I understand you've had a hard day, and my timing might not be my most redeeming quality, but yes, we do have to do this now. Because I can't go on like this, _we_ can't go on like this." I tried to speak without resorting to sobs, but my passion had me talking with my hands, waving them about in front of me nonsensically, "Do you know what the worst part about all of it is?" I wondered, "When you arrive home, I miss you even more, because you're just a shell of the man that I love. Every day you become more and more distant. Every day I lose you a little more. That's not how it's supposed to be, we're not supposed to do this alone, we're married so we can do this together. I understand that you've never had anyone in your life who has wanted to hear all the things that make you unhappy, that make you realize there's darkness in the corner of your mind, that pain is something, after all these years, which you can still feel, but the fact of the matter is that you do _now_. You have me. I didn't marry you solely to enjoy the happy moments with you, to frolic in brightly lit fields of happy wild flowers swaying in gentle breezes. I married you to share _all_ the moments with you… the happy, the sad, the good, the bad – because all of those moments happen. That's _life._ It's not all sunshine and daisies, sometimes its moonless nights and torturous thoughts. I made a vow that I would stay with you through it all. I married you so that in your darkest moments when you needed someone most of all, that someone would be _me_.

"You doubt yourself profusely, and I know that, because in the beginning it was _me_ who told you that I loved you. And that's okay, it's okay, but you have to have more faith in _yourself_. You have to believe that you are enough, Carlisle. I'm not here just because I think you have made the very best of an awful situation, and I want to live as humanely as vampirically possible, I'm here because _I love you_. If you doubt that, you'll break my heart.

"You are not alone, Carlisle." I continued, "And you will never, ever be alone again. So just tell me Carlisle, tell me what's going on, tell me however you want. Whisper it, yell it, scream it, I don't care. I'm not afraid of you." My eyes bore into his, and for a split second I saw him with a clarity I hadn't seen in what seemed like ions. It was like, up until that moment there's been a window of sorts separating us, a dirty, foggy, unclear kind of window, and I was trying to clean it, or to smash it down to get to him, but his next words almost convinced me that he was trying to make it foggier.

For, after a brief moment, he sighed, ran his hand through his hair, swallowed hard and murmured, "It's nothing."

All though those words angered me, the simple gesture of his hands in his hair, the same gesture Edward shared, was so distinctly him that I knew I was almost through that shell of his, and the anger I'd seen just moments before that I didn't associate with him had dissipated. That layer of his defence was down, and he was teetering on the precipice of opening up. I just needed to push him a little bit further, and then we could jump off the edge together.

"It's nothing?" I replied with a quiet incredulous voice that grew louder with every word, "Truly? That's all you have to say to me? _Nothing_? I'm supposed to be the one you tell these things. I'm supposed to be the one you trust enough to confide in, and frankly, I'm wounded that you think me so slight, and so weak, that I am unable to handle whatever it is that has brought your sprits so low that I do not even recognise you! Yet, I put myself out there, I do a thousand things I never thought I would ever do, I ignore every warning bell ringing in the back of my mind, telling me to shut up and sit down, and I ask you what's wrong. I put my heart on the line, I pry where I perhaps should not have pried, and I find a bravery I never thought I beheld, only for you to stare me in the eye and tell me ' _nothing_!' Do you even know how much it took for me to stand there and say what I said? I think not!"

The anger in my system had elevated with my words; I'd worked myself up. I didn't want to hurt him, I wanted to help him, this new mood was not constructive. Perhaps the best thing was to retreat, to give myself space to cool down.

I swallowed hard, and spoke softly but honestly, "I'm hurt; I'll not deny that. I'd like to do a million unladylike things right now, but I'll not. I need to go upstairs for a while and be by myself," his eyes shone with sadness and… worry? What would he be worried about? Could he think that my anger changed the way I felt about him? Was that even possible? I bit my lip, deciding to continue with the honesty, "But… I love you with such a strength that could turn worlds around and nothing can change that."

He looked down at his desk and then back up at me, his eyes were even more saturated with sadness. There was a moment then, in which I could almost hear glass shattering, smashing to the floor, and the foggy window that separated us was no more.

"I love you too," he breathed, "More than anything."

My heart throbbed with such intensity that rendered me immobile. I sighed, and my anger completely dissipated, I was still frustrated and hurt, but I was no longer livid like I had worked myself up to be.

I shook my head, "You know I'm not saying that so it fixes everything, because it doesn't." I began to walk around his desk and he turned toward me opening his arms slightly, I walked straight to him and buried my face in his shoulder.

He sighed and some of the pain subsided. We'd been intimate since Edward had left, but it hadn't felt the same as before… but this simple embrace, I melted into him, and he melted into me, and for the first time in months and months, I didn't feel alone.

"I'm only saying it because I don't want you to think my irritation changes that," I breathed.

"I just…." He whispered brokenly, "I tried not to hurt you and by doing so, I hurt you."

I pulled back to look him in the eye, where nothing but sorrow swam. "Would you say that loving me has been more difficult for you than anything you've ever done?"

He paused, then nodded, "But so much better too."

I smiled, and gingerly touched his cheek, "It's because being married is a two player game. Each of us has a need to be in this as much as the other. When you're upset, you need to let me help you, not block me away protecting me from it, because seeing you hurting hurts me, because I love you."

He nodded, but his eyes were still downcast. Not feeling any bitter emotions any longer, I placed my other hand on his cheek, and watched him relax a little, "What can I do to make this better?" I wondered.

He sighed, and pulled me even closer to him, but then just shrugged.

My dead heart throbbed, "Carlisle." I whispered, trying desperately to get him to look at me by brushing his hair out of his face, but he kept his expression hidden, by pressing his face against my shoulder. All was quiet as I felt his lips tremble against my skin.

I exhaled every inch of stress out of my body, ready to be his comfort. How many times had he held me close when I needed it most? Too many to count, and that's how many times I would do it back for him. "That man in the hospital today may have lost his son and his wife," I breathed, "But you haven't lost me. You never will."

His body shook once, and I caressed his head, placing a kiss on his blonde hair. I didn't say anything aside from, "I love you," because nothing else needed to be said.

I simply sat upon his lap in the dim light of the study, holding him close as he did something I'd never before witness him do…

He cried.

* * *

 _A.N. I had to go back through most of Faith & Love to make sure I'd never written Carlisle's actually sobbing, on the edge of it yes, but not actually sobbing, and I don't think I did, but if I did, we'll just forget about that and let this be the first time he's cried in front of Esme :P _

_Well, that was a bit of an emotional roller coaster, wasn't it? I hope you all enjoyed it._

 _Thank you for all your lovely reviews for the last chapter, if I haven't replied to your review yet, I shall do that very soon!_

 _I most likely won't update for a while now (a month/a few weeks maybe?), I'm falling head first into a plethora of exams, so although I'm trying to find spare time to have a break and do what I enjoy (writing!) I'll have to use my spare time to eat and sleep for the coming weeks :P But I will be back! I promise! I'm too excited about chapter 12! But, chapter 11 is next, and we're catching up with Edward again! Who knows, because it'll be a shorter chapter I might surprise myself and end up with spare time to write! No promises though! :)_

 _Hope you're all well, much love x_


	11. Justice, Justice

_Chapter Eleven: Justice, Justice_

 _A Forest Somewhere in Idaho, 1927_

 _Edward_

The opening bars of Fidelio Overture flittered through the trunks and the leaves of the forest, carried by the brisk wind, and complementing the cracking and crunching of the heavy boots crushing fallen leaves and twigs. A dog barked a few times, and the whistled version of Beethoven's only opera stopped before a man spoke in quite tone, "Shush now Bruce, we're almost back."

The man and his dog came into view then, passing below where I hid in the leafy canopy of some evergreens, watching the only two occupants of the little forest as they slowly meandered by.

The man was dressed in his regal blue uniform as he made his way from the depths of the forest, out to the fringes and into the town. I followed closely and soundlessly, keeping as hidden as possible in the thin foliage of the winter trees.

As I had ventured around the outskirts of different towns, and through the thicks of the forests I had paid careful attention to the thoughts of the people that I came near – forever listening out for the slightest hint of an incident that may require my assistance. After Columbus, I'd headed back to Ashland, and successfully tracked down the scoundrel that had caused the end of Elsie's life, but then I'd had no plan as to where I'd travel next, so I wandered and wandered, following my nose, my mind, my feet. On a few occasions my gift had led me to intervene in events that would lead to an innocent's death, and stop it in it's tracks, other times I was a little too late to save a life, but I took the culprit in order to prevent it happening again. Getting lost in the hunt was the simplest thing I'd ever done, it was as though my entire life was growing tension, and finally I'd found relief, there was no more building to a monumental moment, simply letting go and giving into my most basic instinct: to hunt.

Weeks passed in this solitary adventure, and part of me waited patiently for an echo of the person I used to be to come and find me, to tell me what I was doing was wrong, but it had yet to find me. In the midst of a chaotic life, I had found peace.

So I flittered through the trees following closely behind the young man and his dog as they came home from the search that had occupied a great deal of their morning.

Although I always kept my ear out for any hint of a thought that might lead to events I could prevent, in case there was none, I was following the investigation of a young woman's death from last night. The edge of the forest lay very close to town, and I had learned during the early hours of the morning, that I could hear most of the thoughts of the small town's inhabitants from the fringes of the trees, so I lingered in the foliage as the young man emerged with his dogs.

He trudged with muddy boots through an alley between two tall buildings, before appearing on a street and heading toward the police office. He didn't stay long in the small brick building; just long enough for the dog he'd gone walking with to settle on his bed in the corner, and for one of the other officers in the building to tell him the Chief was waiting for his report.

So the young man left the office, and weaved trough a warren of narrow gravel streets constantly adjusting his hat in a seemingly nervous gesture, until he arrived at the impressive front façade of a large theatre. It looked greatly misplaced in such a little town, but perhaps the great love of the town were the fine arts.

The entire street was abuzz; people were everywhere wondering what had happened, how it had happened, who had done it, and trying to get a glimpse of the lonely body that lay in the alleyway.

I suppressed a growl, swallowing it back down my throat, thinking if only I'd been in this town a few hours earlier, I could have stopped a pointless death from occurring. I could easily say I much preferred taking my meal by stopping a crime from occurring, rather than cleaning up after one.

The young police officer had to push his way through the busy crowd to get to the perimeter of the crime scene. The place was swarming with police, more police than the little town could possibly have, it seemed somehow the force had grown and expanded overnight. It worried the young officer that he didn't know, nor trust any of these extra officers. A tent had been erected near the front door of the theatre, and when the young officer spotted someone he deemed a man of importance he made a beeline toward him.

The porky man barked orders around, with a sorrowful look upon his face, his brow was wrinkled slightly with concern, and his hands rested upon his round stomach.

He looked up when he heard the young man's approach, and something akin to relief smoothed his crinkled temple.

"Robert, my boy!" He called out, as the young officer ducked into the tent, "Did you find anything?" The older man's grey eyes were eager, and his stance was hopeful, but the news wasn't good.

The young Robert was regretful as he lowered his eyes and shook his head, "Nothing, sir."

The porky Chief grumbled under his breath, but clapped Robert on the shoulder none-the-less, before he walked away. The boy followed with his head bowed, down the side of the theatre and into a narrow alleyway where the cold body of the victim still lay. My growl woke a few scared birds roosting in some trees not too far from me; they flew from their leafy havens with screeches of terror. Silly things needn't be afraid – even to the yellow eyes, they were not appetising. I tried to repress the tang of pain that hit me in the chest when referring to my previous companions with such a distant name, but I had decided to fully give myself to the life I'd chosen, and it was easier to forget about them than to feel the strange pull they still had over my mind. It was probably just the good memories we shared that tugged the sentimental lobe of my brain back to the thought of them. It aided me in no way to think of them, helped little with my task, so with a slight shake on my head, I fell back into the human's minds.

They slowly walked down the dark and damp street, with the uneven gravel crunching beneath their boots. A group of older men stood around the body, not looking at her, speaking quietly to each other. They turned around when they heard then men's approach.

"Chief, we've sketched out the footprint we found," an older man, with grey hair and a rectangular head murmured with a nod to the porky man, gesturing to a large footprint of a boot, "And we have three suspects waiting inside."

The Chief nodded before the other officer turned to the young officer that trailed behind, "Did you find anything on your patrol this morning?"

Robert shook his head, remembering the solitary peace of the (mostly) empty forest.

"Nor on your regular patrol last night?" Disappointment filled all the minds in the alley as the older man probed.

The boy shook his head again, as the scene in his head turned black with nightfall.

The older officer pursed his lips and grumbled just as the chief had, before turning back around to face the body, "Such a shame."

"Doc on his way?" The Chief wondered gravely.

The older man nodded, "Should be here any minute."

For a very short while they all stood there in silence, nodding to one another and no one in particular, before soft footsteps crunched the gravel road. They all turned around, and gazed upon the new arrival, an ageing doctor, who once had black hair, and had hazel brown eyes, but his gentle expression filled with compassion tried to take my mind a place I didn't want it to go. I watched the next few moments of introductions distantly, withdrawing myself from the scene and the memories as much as I could.

The middle-aged doctor knelt down by the body, but I blocked out his every thought as he examined the wounds.

He barely touched her, save to open her eyelids and move her hair, and murmured quietly, "Blunt force trauma to the temporal lobe, major optic haemorrhage – the blow didn't kill her, it looks like she died of asphyxiation. There's great evidence of –"

"Robert," the older officer murmured, speaking over the doctor's quiet speech taking the young officers attention away, "We have three suspects inside. Would you go and get their statements?"

Robert nodded, and without another glance at the scene of the crime, he turned around and left.

He found the three suspects inside the theatre, cuffed to chairs in the red-carpeted theatre foyer. Another officer stood there, taking guard, watching over the men with accusing eyes.

Robert announced himself when he entered, and informed the watching officer of his task. With a simple nod the officer asked, "Which one do you want first?"

Having no preference for any one nor the other, Robert simply chose the one on the left. I pried into their minds in attempt to see if any of them were reliving the woman's last moments, but none of them were. The man on the left, whose shackles the officer was about to undo was simply thinking of the work he was missing out on, the man in the middle has his mind on a different woman's face, and the man on the right was thinking about chicken that seemed to be covered in flies. Chicken itself was enough to disgust me, so I quickly tuned him out. The practise I'd been getting at reading minds since I started my adventures had aided me greatly in the control I could exert over my gift. I could very nearly walk into a town and know exactly who I was looking for. On occasion however, such as this one, I had to work a little for my meal. It was an interesting type of hunt. I delved back into the mind of the young officer, as he accepted a notepad from the other officer and led the first suspect into a darkened theatre. The suspect's hands were still cuffed together, as the young officer instructed him to sit down. The officers demeanour was a strange mix between nervousness and authority, almost as if he was caught between two worlds, not really knowing which one to choose. He seemed almost too desperate to assert his authority, like he was trying to force himself into that mould, where he was naturally too nervous to do so. I focussed more on his vision, rather than his mental conflict for I'd no interest in his issues. He was looking curiously at the suspect who sat on the red chair in front of him, dressed in grubby overalls with tussled hair under an old hat and an impatient look upon his dirt speckled face. His brown eyes were narrowed, and his lips were slightly downturned as he appraised the young officer the way the officer appraised him. The officer sat down and pulled out a pen and the notepad, which already had a few notes on it, readying his questions in his mind. I thought perhaps in the suspects heads I might be able to see the night clear as day, and I'd be able to piece it all together from their memories. But time would only go to show how wrong I was with that thought.

The green eyes of the officer bore into the brown of the suspect's as he asked briskly, "What is your name?"

The reply he received was short and curt, "Peter Hobson."

"Occupation?"

Hobson raised a single brow, as if the answer should be obvious. Although he felt slightly idiotic for asking such a question to a grubby man in overalls, the officer had to do so.

Hobson replied in his curt fashion, "I work in the lumber yard."

"It says here you'd been imprisoned twice for minor felonies. Assault and breaking and entering."

"Yeah, but I assaulted a guy, and I didn't steal anything. I did my time. I paid my dues."

"You learned your lesson?"

His brow furrowed as his glared deepened, "What lesson?"

 _I'll take that as a no,_ the young officer thought. "Where were you between the hours of six pm and eight pm last night?"

Hobson ground his teeth together in annoyance but decided to tell the truth, "Here. My boss gave me two free tickets to the show, so I took my wife. She deserved a nice night out."

"And during the recess, you went where?"

"I went to find the bathrooms, but I couldn't find them." In his mind there was a long darkened corridor that he walked down with curiosity, and slight frustration in his mind – he was looking for something. Every door he passed, he tried to open, and with each new attempt he grew more and more frustrated. His memory was interesting, for every so often, he would begin to turn around, begin to feel something in his hand, before he made a conscious decision not to remember what it was, and carry on looking at the doors.

"Were you with anybody? Did anybody see you?"

"No because I got lost." The memory repeated over and over again as he talked.

"So you have no alibi for the break?"

"Look, I didn't kill her."

"We'll leave that for the experts to decide."

"I don't even know who she is."

"I wouldn't expect you to. That will be all. Stand up."

Hobson grumbled as he stood and followed Robert out. I couldn't find a single trace of the victim's last minutes in his mind. If he did it, he was expressly not thinking about it.

The other officer was waiting by the door, and when Hobson emerged he grabbed him by the elbow before pulling him back to his seat, and grabbing the second suspect for Robert.

Robert led the second man to the same place he'd questioned Hobson, and followed the same routine. He battled down his nervousness and convinced himself he had authority as he scrutinised the younger, more polished man, with bright blue eyes and dark blonde hair.

He told him to sit down, and then pulled out the notepad again, flicking through the pages to find the suspect's details.

"Name?" He asked tonelessly.

The man looked a little too nervous, like he was putting on a show, and took a deep breath, "Jim Pitcher."

"Occupation?"

"Job seeker." After a quick grin at his wit, he quickly moved to clarify as Robert gave him a questioning glance, with eyebrows high, "I just moved here. That's why they think I did it, because I'm new. It's always the new guy, isn't it?"

Robert's eyes narrowed as he took down some notes.

"Where were you between the hours of six pm and eight pm last night?"

Pitcher shrugged, staring in the officer's eye as he remembered the empty foyer and the music he could hear from far away. He was conversing with the manager, trying to convince him to hire him, but he had no luck. He remembered leaving just as the doors to the theatre opened, "Here. I came to see if there were any vacancies. I arrived just before seven, and left just before the intermission."

"Were you with anyone during the recess?"

Pitcher shook his head but his mind flashed to a waiter's face, "No, but I wasn't here. I left to go and visit some restaurants, see if they needed help." His eyes lit up with what he deemed a brilliant idea, "Say, you wouldn't have any vacancies would you? I could make a good police officer."

"Sorry," Robert replied curtly, "We don't take murderers."

Pitcher fought not to roll his eyes, "I didn't kill her."

Robert gave the same answer he'd given to Hobson, "We'll leave that for the experts to decide. Stand up."

As they left the room, I sighed unhappily at the flippant man's words and memories, I couldn't find a single trace of the victim's last minutes in his mind. If he did it, it didn't bother him enough to cross his mind. The two officers exchanged subjects once more, and Robert led the final, and eldest suspect into the theatre.

As they entered the room, the old man who was shivering, gave Robert a nervous smile, "Warm in 'ere, innit?"

Robert made no reply, just gestured for the old man with balding grey hair and sunspots on his face, to sit in the seat where he'd be questioned.

Once again, Robert got the notepad out, and asked "Name?"

"Alfred Walton, sir," the old man replied courteously.

The title inflamed Robert's authoritarian ambitions, and with an air of more importance than he could ever have, he continued his questioning, "Profession?"

Walton shook his head, "Don't got one."

Robert nodded, then gave the man's attire a quick appraisal, noting the old, dirty clothes, he wondered, "What is your address?"

Walton once again shook his head, "Don't got one."

This didn't surprise Robert, he nodded before looking back to his notepad, "Where were you last night between the hours of six and eight pm?"

The old man's brow knitted together before he admitted apologetically, "I don't know…"

Robert was slightly taken aback as he queried, "Don't know?"

The alley beside the theatre popped into his mind, as he remembered walking from the back door of the theatre to the rubbish bins by the restaurant. He fished through the bins and found some old food, deciding it was better than nothing he took it back to his spot and began to eat. Not long after he began to feel queasy, then his memories faded into oblivion.

"Can't remember." He said, "I was in that there alleyway, but then I ate some food that wasn't good food and I don't remember anything. I woke up this morning and found your girl there."

"What food?" Robert questioned.

"Chicken."

"From where?"

"Next door's garbage can."

Robert sighed and nodded, "Do you have any idea what time you woke up?"

"Sun was just rising."

"So you could have caused a young woman to meet her end?"

The old man was aghast at the thought, but reasonably replied, "I suppose it's a possibility, sir. But it would be most unlike me."

I couldn't find a single trace of the victim's last minutes in his mind. If he did it, he had no recollection whatsoever yet he sat there fretting, worrying about how he'd blacked out after scoffing down some fetid smelling thing he found in the garbage, he hoped profusely that in the hours he could not account for in his head, he wasn't overcome by some horrid entity that compelled him to commit such an abhorrent act.

I sighed, and ran my hand through my hair, trying not to focus on their human idiocy, as I jumped down from my perch in the trees. Little voices from the towns people, especially those around the scene quietly echoed in my mind, thinking about spruce leaves, lunch breaks, sadness, and the impending clean up. But to me, this one, unlike a few others, had really been an easy one. I wanted to check the time, to see how long it would be until nightfall, but I had placed my watch in my backpack, and I had stowed my backpack in a tree hollow somewhere high, where no reasonably skilled human could find it, and no vampire would have much interest in it. When my feet hit the forest floor, I fell into an aimless jog, in hopes to quickly pass away the time.

As I wandered through the empty forest, I tried to take it all in, tried to take in the browns and sparse greens, the grey clouds, the black ones too. I tried to focus on the colours and the sounds and the smells of the lack of humans… but it was almost impossible to fill the vampire mind with distractions, there was so much room. So much space to imagine a little forest nymph running through the trunks, to forget the way the colours painted on the canvas, to block out the imaginary laughter of two eternally young men darting as fast as they could while ones speed began to wane, yet could never be slower than the older. They were simply things I had to try to block out, because I traded that life for this one. It was choice I made, a choice I needed to respect. I chose the happiness of human kind over the comforts of their company – that was what he did too. The golden eyed one. I closed my eyes and shook my head, hoping to dispel the memories as I quickened my jog to a sprint, hoping that my fast pace would take my thoughts away from the things I needn't want to think about. So I ran until the forest began to blur, but I could see it still all crystal clear, I ran away until the light began to dull, and I ran back before it left completely.

When I arrived back to the edge of town, instead of scaling the tree trunk and settling back into my perch in the evergreen leaves. I slipped down the little alley, with my hands shoved in my pant pockets and my hat covering my eyes. The darkness was enough of a cover for my blood red eyes, but I had to be certain that the quirk would go entirely unnoticed. As I appeared from the alley and assimilated into the few people walking down the sidewalk, I scanned through all the thoughts echoing in my mind, looking for the somewhat familiar voice that would lead me to the culprit. On the other side of the little town, standing on a corner came a voice I remembered from earlier in the day. He was smoking something, and thinking about the speakeasy he was almost ready to return to. I quickly ducked into the next alleyway I found, letting the black night envelop me, before scaling the side of the building, and running along the rooftops as quickly and quietly as possible. When I reached the brick building that the man leaned up against I slid down its side before creeping along toward the man. I listened out with my gift for anyone looking in the man's direction, but after finding no keen observers, I placed my hand over his mouth and dragged him into the alleyway.

"Be quiet, or I'll make you be quiet," I growled into his ear before turning him around and pressing his back against the wall, "I have a few questions for you, regarding last night. You lied to the officer today, didn't you? About your whereabouts during the intermission at the show."

He gulped as fear filled his eyes and his mind. I saw my reflection in him, but I was just a mass of black, thanks to the darkness that obscured me even so close to him. He struggled to get away from me, thinking of nothing but ways to loosen my grip. Growing frustrated I tightened it, thinking how Maggie's talent would have been immensely helpful in those moments.

"Tell me the truth, did you kill that woman?" I asked through gritted teeth.

Before all of a sudden his mind cut back to a scene I'd already seen, except the scene was different. He wasn't alone as he wandered down the hall of the theatre, and he most certainly wasn't lost. So he'd lied. I could see it in his thoughts. But it wasn't the lie I was looking for. He didn't take his wife to the show – he took his mistress. He didn't get lost on the way to the bathrooms – he was with her. He didn't kill the victim – he just couldn't reveal his secret.

"You're an idiot," I muttered before letting his squirming body drop to the floor, "An absolute idiot." He scrambled away from me on his hands and knees, as I stood disgustedly staring at the disgrace in front of me. I waved a hand toward the light and growled, " _Go_. You're not the one I want."

He stood up as quickly as he could, watching me intently as he did so, before he turned and sprinted at a pitiful speed away from me, turning his head every so often to make sure I wasn't following, as if he could ever outrun me, as if he'd even be able to know how fast I was moving, as if he'd ever see me coming. But I stood there dumbfounded, not much caring where he was going. How could I have been wrong about that? I was so sure. Could I have let the wrong man go sand strike again?

How did I miss it? The lumberyard would account for the spruce trees, his heavy work boots would account for the footprint, but it wasn't him. None of the other suspects had those boots, or went anywhere near the forest, after all, what reason would a homeless man or a job seeker have to be in the forest? What reason would anybody have to be in the forest, for that matter… oh. Oh! My growl echoed down the alley way as I inwardly berated myself for being so obtuse. It was so obvious, and I missed it! I scaled the walk of the building behind me as fast as I could hopping onto the rooftop and sprinting across it jumping from one rooftop to the other, listening out for the mental voice I had grown quite accustomed to hearing. It lead me back toward the forest, to a small alley between two buildings right between the forest edge, where the dark shapes of a man and a dog were happily walking toward the fringes. I slid down the side of the building I'd been standing on, before following after them in the shadows. I sprinted from behind them, through the tree trunks by his side, until I was quite a way in front. I let them make their way quiet deep into the forest before I spoke, from a spoke, leaning up by a trunk.

"No Fidelio tonight?" I wondered.

The man jumped, as the dog began to bark furiously. In the man's fright he dropped the dog's leash, and so I sprinted to the dog's side. And with a simple 'Boo!' it ran off in the other direction howling like a wolf. I was a strictly no collateral damage kind of avenger.

"Darn dog," the man muttered, before looking around, "Who is there?" He called out to me.

"Nobody in particular," I murmured, with my back once again pressed up against the trunk, "A somewhat silent observer of sorts."

He couldn't see me in the dark, yet his eyes were good for a human. I noted he carried no light – he was used to wandering these woods in the dark.

"It's Robert, isn't it?" I wondered.

"How do you know my name?" His nervousness far outweighed his desire of being in charge, as he continued to turn in circles trying to find where my voice was coming from, but only making himself dizzy.

I grinned to myself, "I know more than just your name."

"I'm an officer of the law, you know." his voice broke, "I could have you arrested."

"Ah yes, justice, justice," I murmured, before pushing off the trunk and walking toward him, "But you know if you really were of any authority at all, you'd say 'You're under arrest,' not 'I'll have you arrested.' You just put me in control of this situation." I let out a laugh, "You have a lot to learn. But for now there something I want to know."

In a split second, my arm was around his neck, and I was standing behind him, lips by his jugular, near his ear.

"You went to the show last night, didn't you?"

His heart raced with terror, he struggled to talk with a dry mouth.

Yet he managed to lie, "No."

"You were humming Fidelio Overture during your morning patrol, they played that last night you know."

"I, I…" he stuttered, and ran through a million responses in his mind before, surprisingly settling with, "Yes."

"And during the intermission, you followed a young woman out to an alleyway didn't you?"

"No."

"I won't tell, I'll let you go. It's only that I'm a terribly curious person, and I tend to implode internally and cause horrid chaos if my curiosity goes…" I tilted my head to the side a little, pondering the most appropriate word choice "Unquenched."

"I didn't," he insisted, as the flicker of a frightened expression on a woman's pale face appeared in his memory, giving me the conformation I needed.

"Everybody lies," I murmured with menace, "Even to themselves."

He was struggling to come to terms with what he'd done, struggling to make sense of it in his brain. He'd blacked it out, as if the best way to cope was to simply forget, or to completely avoid the subject in his mind.

I didn't need his spoken confession, but I got it anyway, "Yes!" He wailed, "Yes, I did it! I did it, I did it."

Well, that was easy. Before he could even blink, I had his back pressed against a trunk. When his mind registered the move, his fear returned coloured with desperation.

"You said you'd let me go," he breathed, tears welling in his pitiful eyes.

"Would you like me to tell you the truth?" I wondered smiling menacingly, listening to his heart stop and breath catch with fright, "I _lied_."

* * *

 _A.N._ _Hi everyone! Sorry it's been so long! Semester ended a week ago (we have our long break over November-March, which is our summer) and I've just needed a little time to get back into it. So I'm a little rusty, but I hope it doesn't show._

 _My biggest challenge with this chapter was how to show that Edward was trying not to think of Carlisle and Esme while I was writing in his mind. So I wanted to use the mystery thing as a kind of_ _metaphor for Edward's frame of mind._

 _Soon we'll get back into Carlisle and Esme - the chapter I've been most looking forward to writing, but because I want to do this mental image justice it might take a while for me to write. Also, I really have to get back into this little world, and remember what I was thinking, and where I was at all those months ago before I really start getting into writing again!_

 _I have a few reviews and PMs to reply to, and I promise I'll get back to you guys!_

 _Thank you all for being so patient! Much love! x_


	12. The Healer of the Home

_Chapter Twelve: The Healer of the Home_

 _Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1927_

 _Carlisle_

The emergency room was abuzz with patients and doctors humming around, going about their business, healing, hurting and waiting. The humdrum of people inside the hospital was loud, and yet through the thick walls of the building I could hear the torrential downpour outside. I walked at human pace from the examination room toward the central nurses' station with the file of patient data whom I'd just examined. It had been so chaotic for the triage staff that my colleagues and I (save for Murphy, who disappeared moments before the nurse arrived with her request) were asked to work in the overflowing emergency room, treating the more minor wounds and ailments until we were required for trauma surgery. Often patients treated the emergency room like a general clinic, coming in with coughs and headaches that wouldn't usually concern an emergency doctor – but we took an oath, we had to treat them. I never minded treating them; the only annoyance was the overcrowding of the waiting room.

As I approached the wooden desk I got a better look at the waiting room, where it was strictly standing room only, filled with humans that were sopping wet from the rain. Many of them were covered in towels and blankets, some of them coughing and sneezing clutching fabric to small wounds. Those who had serious wounds were seen first, but it seemed as though the room had cleared out of them for the smell of rain was almost stronger than the smell of freshly cut wounds. The nurses were worked off their feet treating the preliminary examinations and dealing with disgruntled patients waiting to be seen. A great portion of them were rather snappy because of this, something that shouldn't have amused me – but did.

When I reached the desk I went to file my folder away in the 'Seen' folder, but was told curtly by an elderly nurse who was shuffling papers about on her desk below that the piles had been moved.

"Not that one!" She hissed with a perceptible exasperated tone in her voice, "The one on the other side," she shook her head, glaring at me with her grey eyes, before muttering, "Doctors, more degrees than sense."

I swallowed a smile at her annoyance and thanked her quietly before moving around the station and dropping the file in a different pile. I was just about to pick up a new form to welcome a new patient into exam room three, which I'd been allocated for my time in emergency, when I saw a familiar face wander by in my peripheral vision.

I turned around to get a better look, and called out pleasantly, "Nurse Louise!"

The young nurse that had seemingly disappeared from the hospital moths ago turned around with great surprise. There was a tiny edge of panic in her eyes when she saw me, and I briefly wondered what the panic was for, before she pushed it a side in favour of a friendly smile.

"Doctor Cullen," she nodded, "It's been too long. How are you?"

"I'm very well, thank you," I replied back, noticing she was still slightly uncomfortable, "And yourself?"

"Quite well, thank you. What are you doing down here?" She wondered looking around the busy room, "I hope you didn't leave the team because of Murphy as well? It would be tragic for those patients to lose you."

I shook my head, as she confirmed a sneaking suspicion I'd had for sometime, "No, we've just been called down to help out. I didn't know you'd left the team, I thought you were just taking some time off. It's a shame, we all do miss your happy face – but it's best you do the job you feel happiest in."

She sighed, her dark brown eyes looked relived, as she pushed a little piece of hair out of her face, and under her nurse's cap, "Thank you for being so understanding. I'm sorry if Frank's been giving you a hard time at school because of me. I tell him not to, but I don't think he listens."

I shook my head, feeling a little surprised she thought her brother would give me grief. In all honesty, I'd barely seen him, and I was certain that wasn't simply because of my own emotional distance. The thought of this had me growing wary of the circumstances of why she left, "I've not seen him."

"Oh!" She seemed most surprised for a second before she hid that expression too, "Well, that's awfully good." She looked around a little awkwardly and then smiled at me, "I'd better go. We're very busy."

I nodded, forcing a friendly smile, "I'd better as well. You have a good day."

"Thank you, Doctor." She murmured, "I wish you well also." She scattered away leaving me feeling rather uncomfortable with her demeanour, and most suspicious of her departure of our team, and young Frank's absence. He'd stopped chasing me after class some time ago – although it was a different semester, I knew he was in the class that I taught, I saw him up the back glaring daggers my way. I'd figured it was simply because I'd not given him a mark he desired on one of his assignments, I'd never thought anymore, but after having seen Louise I was seriously rethinking my quick dismissal of his constant distance after class.

I looked down at the file that I was holding in my hand, and distractedly walked out to the waiting room. When I looked up, a great deal many hopeful eyes stared up at me, and quite a few hearts accelerated, whether due to White Coat Syndrome or for some other reason, I couldn't be sure.

"Mr. Arthur Cook?" I called out looking around the room.

A young boy, perhaps five or six with a bright red nose and a rapid heartbeat jumped off his seat with a smile, before turning around to the woman who occupied the seat next to him, grabbing her hand and tugging, "Mommy, that's us!"

The young woman, who looked most tired and very worried nodded and walked toward me. When they reached me I introduced myself and led them to room three, trying to push Nurse Louise and Frank out of my mind and focus on my patient.

Young Arthur was quite the character. He bounded into the room and sat down on a chair before sneezing and exclaiming that he had some 'stuffy' in his nose. I laughed quietly as I handed the boy a handkerchief.

"I think he has the flu," Mrs. Cook fretted.

For her sake more than the boy's, I made sure to give him a thorough looking over although I knew it was just a head cold. I'd dealt with the flu a few thousand times, and I knew the dividing line between the two well. Often that dividing line was obscure, but with young Arthur his sneeze was nothing dangerous.

"What have I got, doc?" He wondered as I jotted a few notes down on his file.

"In my professional opinion sir," I replied back just as serious as he, "You have caught yourself a case of the sniffles."

He broke his composure and grinned for a moment, before putting on a very concerned expression, "Is it serious?"

"Nothing that a solider like you can't fight off," I smiled.

That set him into a fit of giggles, before the giggles led to a bought of sneezing.

Mrs. Cook sighed a breath of relief, and managed a smile up at me, "Thank you, doctor."

I gave her a few suggestions as to keep Arthur comfortable until the cold passed, using my favourite line and warning her that it might get worse before it gets better, but as there was no cure for the common cold, there was not much I could do. When I said goodbye to Arthur and his mother I picked up a new file and called in a new patient, and so the hours passed that way. I liked to meet the patients I treated, rather than have them lie unconscious on a table in front of me, it was somewhat humbling.

After admitting a patient with what seemed like hepatitis to the hospital, a nurse popped her head into exam room three, telling me a new doctor had arrived for the next shift and I could go home. I checked my watch, it had just gone noon. I thanked her, and stood up, grinning a little to myself at the thought of Esme, and a warm dry home to return to. It seemed like it had been a long time since I'd felt anything but dread and sadness, and although I'd yet to see Esme after she'd made her feelings very clear to me, the relief I felt was extraordinary. What a weight I had carried without being aware of it. As I signed the last paper and filed it away, I caught a glimpse of the torrential rain outside the window and I marvelled at how it wasn't only our relationship that had changed so quickly overnight – yesterday the weather was amicable – lovely even – for an autumn day, but the early morning brought with it the anger of the skies, clouds as black as coal, and rain as thick as flood water.

I quickly dropped the file off at the nurse's station, which was still buzzing with patients before making my way back toward the trauma team's waiting room where I had stored all my belongings. I would have volunteered to stay longer had I not been at the hospital for eighteen hours already; it would have looked suspicious staying for much longer without getting visibly exhausted. The room was nearly empty when I arrived - the only occupant was Nurse Mary. She turned around at my entrance, and I greeted her when I walked in.

"How was your day?" I asked the elderly nurse who was always brusque but kind.

She nodded, "As to be expected, but rather good. How about yours?"

I smiled, "Quite nice for a change. I like meeting the patients." I walked to the cupboards that held the worker's belongings and pulled out my medical bag and overcoat, "I saw Nurse Louise down there today," I murmured, listening to Mary run water into the kettle and swapping my lab coat for the warmer overcoat. I looked over my shoulder at her as she eyed me curiously.

"Oh?" Mary raised an eyebrow but made no further comment, instead she turned back around and busied herself with the drink she'd been preparing.

"It's a shame we've lost her, but the emergency department has gained a brilliant worker." I could tell that the subject wasn't one she wanted to discuss, so I decided to leave it at that. "Will I be seeing you tomorrow?" I wondered, closing the cupboard door and facing her again.

"Of course," she replied back with a slight smile, "Give my regards to your young wife."

I nodded, "Indeed I will. Have a pleasant afternoon, Mary."

"To you too, Doctor Cullen."

When I left the room and walked down the nearly empty corridor I was still unsettled by the thought of Louise's transfer and Frank's hostile feelings. It seemed as though that chapter was sealed, however, and they didn't want me prying, the only thing I could so was to respect it, and leave it alone. I had no concrete evidence to suspect any foul play.

The bleak grey of the world enfolded me as soon as I left through the hospital doors, and I even felt the stark temperature change between the hospital foyer and the wet car park. The downpour was worse than I imagined. When I made it to the car, there was not a single inch of me that was dry; I was sopping wet. I cringed at the thought of getting the upholstery as wet as I was, for drying it would be an awful task, but I figured it would look most strange if I left my car in the hospital car park in favour of 'walking' home in such weather.

With a sigh, I hopped in, bringing half an ocean's worth of water with me. I turned the engine on, and with extreme care I backed out of the car park and turned onto the road. It wasn't so much dangerous for me to be driving, what with my vampiric reflexes, but the slow reaction time of the human brain was cause for a great deal of casualty on days when the rain was as thick as it was, so I drove slower than usual, keeping a careful eye out for other drivers, stray pedestrians, and anyone who may have been in need of my help. Yet by the time I hit the country roads, I'd not stopped once. There'd been only three other cars I'd seen out in the weather, and not a single person walking the streets. Still, as I increased my speed on the muddy gravel that would lead me home, I watched out carefully. The world existed in varying shades of grey as it zoomed passed my window, and the rain hit my windshield in sheets. I couldn't wait to get home to Esme, who undoubtedly had all the fires lit, making our cold old house feel like a cosy, warm home. I pulled off the road onto our driveway having not seen any other soul, and weaved through the trees on the muddy ground with great care so not to get stuck. The shelter from some evergreens eased the downpour somewhat but quite a great deal of rain managed to slip between the leaves and turn small holes in the path into miniature lakes. As I drove closer to where our house was situated, I could see glimpses of it from between the trunks, and yet oddly I couldn't spy the warm glow of the fire from any window. Once I turned around the last corner I caught sight of the entire house, and the bowing canopy of trees that seemed unable to hold the pressure from the heavens, instead pouring gallons of water onto the kitchen roof. As I sped toward the garage I hoped our old house was able to withstand the wild weather. I got saturated once again while opening the garage, and sighed at the mess of mud covering the car. There was not a lot I could do in the rain, so once the car was parked in the garage, I closed the door and sprinted across the lawn to the house.

When I shut the front door behind me I expected to leave the pounding sound of deluge outside, but even in the darkened house the rain was loud, but there was also a more gentle rhythmic dripping coming from somewhere. Baffled, my brow furrowed, and as I smelled Esme, I turned to the left. The damp air enriched her scent, and much to my surprise, I spied through the opening to the dining room that the rainy sky was present inside. Admittedly, there were only several incessant drips coming from the ceiling but it wasn't what I expected to see. From my stunned spot by the door I watched as a drop of rain fell through the plaster, and landed in a crystal glass – one of the many Esme picked out in England. On a second glance I noted that every drip that dropped was caught by such a glass.

"Carlisle?" Esme's voice came from the kitchen.

I placed my bag on the floor and walked through the doorway, seeing an empty dining room (which was covered in tea cups, vases, bowls and crystal glasses to catch the leaks from the ceiling) I wandered on into the kitchen. Sitting with her back pressed up against the cupboards on the left side of the kitchen, my lovely wife looked up at me with bright gold eyes, her (somehow dry) caramel curls piled atop her head. I noted more vases, cups, and glasses covered the floor and benches catching the dripping raindrops so they didn't make puddles on the floor.

"What on Earth?" I wondered looking up at the wet ceiling where the drops were coming from, before looking back to Esme, feeling utterly baffled.

She stared at me for a moment, appraising my expression, before her eyes lit up with humour, and a giggle popped out from her lips. I couldn't help the small smile that slowly spread across my face as she let go of her laughter.

I stood there shaking my head, as she doubled over and fell to the side, "You're all wet, and the room is raining… It's a disaster… just like we are!"

I was a little too stunned to verbally reply, so I simply nodded, waiting for her amusement to subside. She sat back upright after a short time, grinning from ear to ear, and patted the spot beside her. I let out a stunned laugh before carefully navigating my way around the glasses and vases to the spot beside her in front of the counters. I sunk down to the wooden ground and extended my legs out like hers, grabbing her delicate hand in my bigger one. It was odd, I hadn't realised how long it had been since I had held her hand like that. Having her hand in mine, such a simple gesture, such a minor movement, but such a powerful feeling – it was the sign of not being alone. It was Aristotle who philosophised that the heart was the organ we felt with, and the brain just a mere tool to tell us when we were felling unwell, it's ironic how even in times when we knew this to be false, we still seemed convinced we love with our hearts. The heart is a powerful muscle, and although mine was long dead, it swelled and burst with the most glorious feeling when I gazed upon her. She smiled, and sighed in contentment, letting her head fall on my shoulder, as I continued to marvel at the simple gestures of our love.

"I'm sorry, I didn't really mean that – we're not that much of a disaster," she spoke softly, the smile still present on her angelic face.

I shook my head and grinned, "No, I know what you mean… we are a little disastrous."

She lifted her head off my shoulder and pulled back a little, catching my eye, "We're a good disaster though," she squeezed my hand a little, and I nodded. She eyed me contemplatively with the touch of an analytical eye that I'd seen her look at Edward with once or twice, I realised then sitting there in the middle of the kitchen that she was appraising my expression gauging my emotional state. Usually, I'd simply smile to ease her worries, but I had no control over the involuntary smile that spread across my face at her caring heart. She returned the smile back with ease, before leaning back up against the cupboard and resting her head back with a sigh, eyeing the leaky roof.

"I was upstairs painting," she murmured, watching the drips, "And I thought I heard little tinkling rain drops, so I looked out the window, low-and-behold some of the tiles had fallen off – smashed into a pile on the floor. Then I came downstairs and it was raining." Suddenly she pulled her head away from the cupboard and turned to me, "Did you know we don't own any buckets?"

I racked my brains to think of the places I kept the buckets but I couldn't think of anywhere, "We don't?"

She shook her head, "I feel like that's something we should have thought about before." She turned back to look at the roof and I laughed, mimicking her posture.

"I feel like you're right." I murmured, looking up at the soaking plaster ceiling. It'd begun to bow where most of the deluge was coming through; I hoped it wouldn't break while we sat underneath it, for it'd crush Esme's beloved glass and chinaware.

Out of the corner of my eye I watched as she too surveyed the room, looking briefly at the ceiling, the raindrops and each teacup, crystal glass, vase, and bowl that sporadically decorated the floor. She smiled to herself, shaking her head, and laughed quietly when she spied a cup that was nearly full. She dropped my hand quickly before getting up in a flash, grabbing the teacup and emptying it then putting it back where it came from and rejoining me on the floor against the cupboards.

"How are you still dry?" I wondered.

She grinned, "Immense skill, my dear husband. Immense skill."

I laughed, as she slid her little hand back inside mine. I could tell she was so emotionally exhausted that the good mood she was experiencing was mere inches away from being a hysterical emotional breakdown. The thing about my wife however, was that even when she'd passed her tether she was strong. She may quite possibly have been the strongest person I'd ever met, that little tiny thing with those dark golden ringlets and quiet smile who decorated the kitchen in teacups that we bought thinking they'd never been of use – watching her sit there like that, it was like seeing her for the first time again. And then, all of a sudden, utterly unexpectedly, something came over me like a heat pounding through my veins that I'd never felt before. A tingling in my toes, an itching… something that needed to get out. And my tongue was so ready to move, twitching and squirming, itching to have the chance to speak, and it was like a rush. A rush that started in my toes and went all the way to my mouth and I knew, I knew I just needed to say something... but what should I say? How would I start? I had three hundred years of things bottled up inside of me that no one aside from God had ever wanted to listen to, and here she was. This golden haired marvel with trusting and caring eyes, she looked at me like I was… like she loved me. Like no one had ever looked at me before, not even my own father, not Edward. My father, once or twice, might have looked at me with pride, but usually only emptiness or distain, and Edward… sure; he might have looked at me once with awe - reverence at a push. There was something about the way she looked at me though, it wasn't pride, or reverence, or awe, she didn't look at me like I was some god-like figure, she just looked at me like I was a person, so soft, so open, so honest, so filled with love. And then I knew exactly what to say, as I listened to the leaky ceiling and my mind raced through three hundred years of stories. I focused on one. Right at the beginning.

"There was a leak, in the roof," I said, she slowly turned to me, with a gentle expression of curiosity – the kind of open expression that enflamed my trust in her, "In the basement. With the potatoes. Where I hid when I changed. There was a leak, and I thought, 'oh no, these potatoes are going to rot.' That's how I knew it was nearly over – that it was going to end at all – because all of a sudden, I didn't think about the pain, I didn't think about the wild burning fire that was scalding my soul, I thought about potatoes, and how the water would wet the bags and spoil the food, and someone wouldn't have anything to eat." Through the drips and drop of rain in front of me I saw the cellar my human life ended in as if it was a motion picture projected upon the kitchen wall. It was such a strange sensation to relive moments I hadn't touch on in centuries, while sitting in a leaky kitchen holding the love of my life's hand. So many things I never thought would happen still baffled me. Then, I baffled myself even more, by speaking without thinking about it – it was like the openness and honesty that were so obvious in her eyes had somehow transferred into me, "I haven't thought about that in a long time."

She squeezed my hand slightly, and I glanced at her as she smiled encouragingly up at me. Before I knew it, I was talking again. Like the deluge outside had rain pouring from the sky, the deluge inside had secrets spilling from my soul.

"When I was first bitten, I didn't know what to expect. I figured that I wouldn't die, so I must be turning into one of them. Then the burning started and I didn't know if it would ever end, but I knew I needed to go, so that's why I moved. I was just lucky the cellar was so near. It took everything I had to get in there. I'll never forget that pain, and I know you wont either and I'll never be okay with that." I shook my head, my eyes fell to the floor where her fingers were interwoven with mine, still baffled at her capacity for forgiveness and love.

"I will," she murmured.

I nodded, with my eyes still on the floor feeling a little ashamed, "I know. "

"What did you think it was?" She wondered, with that soft edge to her voice conveying her curiosity in the gentlest of ways, "The fire?"

"Honestly? Hell. I thought it was my initiation into hell that I'd have to serve forever; it was a demonic representation of everything I never stood for."

"Did you ever wonder what you had done to deserve it?"

"Yes, I went the logic route. But there was one thing I couldn't forgive myself for." I finally raised my eyes to looking into her caring gold depths, reminding her of the tragedy that began my life, "My mother died during childbirth. I know now that's not my fault but this was the 17th century, and I was just a boy. I thought that was what I got for causing my mother's death. I wonder what it would have been like if she had been there, how different it would have been. If it would have been different at all… No doubt I still would have disappointed my father, and I don't know how much she would have stood up to him. I don't know anything about her. I did make up my own version of what I wanted her to be." I smiled slightly picturing the flaxen haired woman with light blue eyes and a kind, caring smile I'd always imagined when I needed a caring heart the most.

Esme grinned, "And that's who she is. When you believe something to be true, it makes it true... at least to you."

I closed my eyes and nodded with a small smile. It was quiet for quite sometime before I murmured, "At least to me."

"What did you decide on?" She wondered then, pulling me away from my imagined mother, "The reason for you induction into the underworld?"

"I didn't." I shook my head, remembering my mind racing as I hid under those sacks of potatoes trying not to scream, "Not until later. I decided on the thing that everyone always decides on… _it's just a tes_ t. I lost faith in that… then again, I lost a lot of things. For a while, I thought I lost myself, but I found it when I found the deer." I paused, my mind raced through the memories in my head, from the deer to my fathers church, to the cold empty streets of London, "I lost my family when I lost my father, I lost my mind when I wandered the streets of London alone… but I found things too. I always found things…Perhaps the most profound thing I found was reason, even though that reason was really something I made." Edward's face popped into my mind then, as I watched him search for reason in everything. As I watched I always remembered seeing a similar expression on my face as I walked dark streets at night, reflected in puddles or windows. The expression was perplexed, desperate and lost. My eyes fell back into Esme's then, and my mouth continued to speak, "See, I've found all to often that strength is sometimes confused with being infallible, but they're not the same. I'm a strong person, I have worked along time to be that way but I am in no way infallible."

She offered no reply, just a little smile and a glint in her eye that fanned the flames tingling my toes and engulfing my age-old heart. I turned back to the raindrops that fell from the ceiling, gazing at a small pool in one of the glasses, as it took me back to an empty London street. In the puddles of my memory, my imagination had me seeing Edward's reflection instead of my own, and I wondered if I'd have had a mentor in my younger years, would I have looked to him with awe and reverence? Would I have idolised him to the point that I no longer saw my own strengths, that I only saw the gaps between where he stood and where I was?

"Nothing good comes from being put on a pedestal," I told her, shaking my head, "Being made to be greater than one really is. Just disappointment." Edward's face disappeared from the puddle as a stray drop of rain spoiled the image in my memory, bringing me back to the present, staring at the water in the glass. "I have disappointed a lot of people in my life," I murmured quietly, before turning back to her.

Her eyes were wide and open, the picture of rapt attention and utter interest. It was such a strange thing it was to have someone so focussed and so interested in the goings on of my most venerable thoughts, not to expose them or take advantage, but to keep them safe with theirs and protect them. It was that thought, and the peculiar feeling of the world consisting of just the two of us that kept the words from the depths of my heart pouring out of my mouth.

"I feel like I disappointed him," I admitted to her, "I feel like… a…" I couldn't place the word, but she seemed to know where I was going, and maybe she felt the same, because she breathed the word that escaped my tongue.

"Failure," she gave me have a smile, it was equal parts sad and encouraging.

I nodded solemnly, "I feel like a failure."

She squeezed my hand, "I'm not going to try and tell you that what you feel is wrong, because I don't believe that that is helpful, but…" she shook her head with another smile, "You're not a failure. We let him go, and there are dire consequences for that decision, but there would be dire consequences if we never let him go, if we forced him to stay. We _needed_ to let him go."

A thousand strangers faces flashed before my eyes as her words reminded me of his dark path, "But how many lives did that cost?"

"Too many." She admitted, "But that's not your fault… and you _know_ that."

I took a deep breath, my eyes drifting from hers to the glasses, the drips and the bowing ceiling. It looked as though it was just about to crumple under the pressure, like it was about to break. The truth is, it looked quite like how I felt. "I feel…" I breathed, running my fee hand through my hair as a heavy weight crushed down on my chest, "So…" My ligaments felt dislocated, my legs felt shaky and I knew it was all in my head, for the venom in my veins made sure I would never feel this way, but emotions could make the brain feel crazy things. "Weak."

Her hand squeezed my hand tighter, somehow imploring me to turn back at her. I did, and her eyes were fierce with care and love, "That's okay." She nodded, "I can be strong for the both of us. Whenever you need."

I shook my head in wonderment that was tinged and coloured with bewilderment, "I've never had anyone to do that for me before."

She cocked her head to the side, that fierce expression turning soft in a second, "I guess the good thing is, you do now, and you will forever. That's not a promise, that's a fact. _I love you_ , and I'm here to help you in any way I can."

I sighed, and reached up to caress her cheek, "I could have used you a thousand times before."

She let out a laugh, "I can imagine."

Suddenly another thought came into my head, the picture of my father's church, and the old man that lay in his bed alone, "You know, I went back." It wasn't a question - she knew this story.

She raised an eyebrow and wondered, "Hmmm?"

"To the church," I clarified, as she turned her head and placed a kiss on my hand before I dropped it from her face, "I went back to the church, I watched him die. My father. There was nothing I could do." I shook my head, picturing the six foot deep grave I dug with a shovel like a human, "And I… I buried him, next to my mother, in unmarked graves. Then I wandered the streets, I had nowhere to go, and I felt… _so_ … alone." That same London street extended out in my mind, with it's puddles and lonely lives.

She closed her eyes as if she was in immense pain, and she pressed her face to my shoulder, her nose, her lips. She squeezed my hand, and it was like, it was like she felt my pain. It was like she felt it just like I did. And for the first time, I didn't have to find strength inside of me to come to terms with it. I just breathed out… I just breathed out and focussed on her and it was okay. I was okay.

Then a funny memory popped itself into my head, and it was out of my mouth with an unexpected laugh before I even decided to tell her. "On my first day of class ever, I turned up outside the room and I had my hand on the door, and then I thought, _no I cannot do this._ But there professor came up behind me and his hands were filled with parchment and he just said, 'oh good, bring these inside, put them on the desk up the front.' I didn't have the heart to lie and tell him I wasn't in his class. I had to swallow my apprehension and do it anyway. For years that was the best thing that happened to me, because in this world of doom and darkness, and an endless amount of time extended out in front of me with nothing in it, I found a glimmer of hope, a tiny and yet incandescent glimmer sparkling in between the lines of words written on paper, and in the brains of humans. I was fascinated by them. That gave more strength to the resolution why I shouldn't kill them. They're incredible. Absolutely incredible. I went into science because I wanted to know how it worked. I fell in love with medicine, because I could help in a way I'd never been capable of before, yet I sit here and think no matter how many lives I've saved that'll never make up for how many are taken."

"It can't," she said. "There's supposed to be a balance. Only so much the planet can handle."

I grinned, staring at the far wall and nodding, "The balance of the cellular society."

"The balance of the what-what?" I turned to her as she let out a laugh, looking at me with a raised eyebrow and a perplexed expression.

"We say that our cells are made to make up for all those that are lost." I explained, "Cells die, and cells come along."

"Oh." She nodded, "People die. Children are born."

"Exactly," I agreed, "A balance."

She smiled thoughtfully up at me, and spoke in a soothing voice, "The thing I've found about life Carlisle, is that everything is a balance - a balance that's really hard to find." It reminded me of the balances I fought to find in my life - balancing work and home, balancing Esme and Edward, balancing the human and vampire inside.

"But not impossible," I murmured distantly, as our heads both turned away from each other and our eyes fixed themselves on the wall opposite, both envisioning our own balances.

"I'm not sure I believe in impossible things," her reply was just as quiet, thoughtful, and distant, "It's only impossible until you find a way to prove it's not."

That comment had one of those involuntary smiles spreading across my face. I took a deep breath and after a moment I pulled my eyes away from the wall, looking at her. "And we're good at finding things."

She turned back to me immediately, a large smile lighting her eyes as she nodded, "See, you know it. You might have lost your faith after you were changed, your mind when you were alone, your family when your father died, and your purpose somewhere in between. But you said it yourself, you found it all again. Your faith in the deer, your mind in the books, your family is right here, and your purpose is in life. You save it. Every day."

There was a weight to the truth of her words that had an extraordinary effect on me; there was something in the sincerity, the honesty – the truth. If I had been standing it may have had the ability to buckle my knees and bring my body to the floor, but as it was, us sitting on the floor of that kitchen with the little dripping noises of the water falling through the ceiling and the continuous thrumming of the downpour outside, it brought down the final piece of my guard that three centuries had carefully built up. I turned to her, not sure what to say or do, but feeling so much gratitude and love and those three centuries worth of pain, I buried my head in her hair like I had the night before, and she held on to me like I knew she always would. It was with my head buried there in her hair that a warm feeling engulfed me. It was hard to describe – it wasn't a rush of heat, it was simply a spread of warmth that didn't start anywhere in particular… it just _was_. Oddly, it felt a little like safety. I wasn't that I'd ever felt unsafe before, but finally there was a place where I didn't have to hide anything, it was like finding a safe haven, it was like… finding home. After three centuries of wandering alone, I'd finally found myself a home, and it looked nothing like the place I'd been picturing, because in my head it didn't have eyes, but it was everything I'd ever hoped it would feel like, and so much better because it was _her._

"I love you," I said simply with the kind of open honesty she'd shown me before.

Her face lit up at my words, in a way I'd not noticed for years. It was easy to see her delight in those words, "I love you too." I released then that although I'd told her I loved her time and time again, it had grown stagnant in the previous months. I'd said it for the sake of saying it, almost automatically. It wasn't as though I hadn't meant it - because I _had_ \- but I had been so withdrawn inside myself that I hadn't conveyed it properly. As if we were on the same wavelength she added, "And I'm glad to have you back."

"We really let it ruin us, didn't we?" I laughed, and she began to giggle, nodding with a bright grin on her face.

"But we're back now," she said.

I nodded, leaning in quickly to place a kiss on the side of her head, before I reverted back to my former position, mimicking hers with our heads against the cupboards.

We sat for a while relishing in a comfortable silence that I'd forgotten even existed. I watched the raindrops fall, thankful for the little disaster that ended our big one.

"It'll be sad closing this ceiling up," she murmured, like she had Edward's gift.

"You should paint it," I suggested, "Immortalise the moment we realised that sometimes it takes a disaster to heal."

She laughed, nodding "This is true. I was actually thinking of destroying the room even more though."

My brow furrowed, she always came out with the most unexpected things, "Oh?"

"Mmm," she nodded, before turning to me with a little shy expression, "I got the plans from the city hall."

My brows rose a little, but with surprised delight, "You did?"

She nodded, "I thought I'd show them to one of my professors and ask him about the logistics, but I'm not sure," she shrugged, "What do you think?"

"Combining the dining room and kitchen?" I wondered.

She nodded.

I turned to the dividing wall, imagining the big open room that would result, "I think it would look good."

"And you know the room next to ours?" She wondered, excitement leeching into her voice.

I nodded, grinning at her light exited eyes.

"What do you think about converting them into two rooms?" she asked, "Closet and a bathroom."

"That's a very good idea – we need another bathroom, bathing underneath the stairs is not a pleasant experience."

She shook her head definitely, "Not at all, and we need a big bath. I want to put it by that window, we can look out on the forest on morbid days like this and relish in that cosy feeling of being at home."

Just the thought of it made me happy, "I'd like that."

"I want to look for a thick rug for our bedroom floor," she continued.

"Why?" I grinned, "The bed not good enough for you?"

She laughed, and shook her head, "Not at all. The floor is much better."

We laughed together for a while, completely in tune. "I've miss this," I admitted, "This..."

As I struggled to find the right word, she helped me again, "Comfort?"

I nodded, "Yes, and the feeling like we're finally…" I waved my hand in the air as if the raindrops could help me with my talking.

Although the raindrops failed me, she did not, "On the same page?"

"Yes," I nodded.

"I have too," she sighed, "It's almost like for such a long time we've been in different chapters, and lately it's like we've been living in different books!"

I laughed, nodding, "I was page eighteen of 18 this and you were page 18 of that."

"Well at least we were trying!"

Her bubbling chimes joined in with my humor, "Well at least we were trying!"

"Pitifully!"

Together we laughed for a while, shaking our heads, relishing in the feeling of kinship once more.

Once our laughter had subsided and her head had drifted onto my shoulder. In the dimly lit room I felt more connected to her than I ever had before, it was almost as if in all the time we had spent together before we were just an inch out of sync. We'd both been holding back from one another. Me because I'd never had someone like her before, and her because... she'd never had someone either. A tinge of sadness panted at my chest, but it did not do to dwell on that. Instead, in the protection of our little world I asked a burning question, "What are you going to do with the second floor?"

"Leave it for now." She breathed, "I'm not ready."

"I understand." I nodded, squeezing her hand; "We need to run some plumbing through this old place."

"We do!" She smiled a little, "I've become all to accustomed to turning on a tap and having water – especially hot water. I can't wait to have that luxury again, boiling buckets is much more tedious than I remember. Water boils so slowly."

I chuckled, "It does. I'm not sure that the plumbing supply store would be open in the weather, but we could head into town once the storm subsides?"

"I'd like that," she breathed, before turning her golden doe eyes up at me, she looked hopeful and vulnerable at the same time, "And… maybe you could teach me how to plumb?"

Proud of her, I nodded, "Of course. However, speaking of water. I should get out of these saturated clothes, and put on something old so we can work out what to do with this ceiling."

She smiled one of those bright grins that could light up the entire country and nodded, "I'll set the living room fire, and put out the drying rack."

"Thank you," I went to place a quick kiss on her cheek, but she caught my lips with hers. I pulled away after a moment with a little laugh, and placed a kiss on her forehead, before begrudgingly getting up to change. She stayed on the floor, looking at the ceiling with a contemplative look upon her face. I smiled to myself and carefully stepped over and around all of her makeshift buckets as I made my way out. When I reached the doorway to the dining room I paused, thinking of her face the night before, thinking of the moment when she looked as though she was afraid of me – when she looked like she was about to back out of her anger.

"Esme," I breathed, turning back around to face her, as she turned around to me with one of those heartbreakingly beautiful expectant smiles, so sweet and gentle.

"Yes?"

I paused for a moment, thinking of the best way to say how I felt, and then deciding on something simple, "I'm proud of you."

For a moment her expression was frozen in the expectant smile, she shook her head slightly and wondered, "What for?"

"For everything. For how you've adapted to this life, for everything you've done since we've met, and for how much you've grown… But most of all, I'm proud of you for standing up to me last night. I know how hard that must have been for you, but thank you for trusting me enough to do that, and thank you for giving me your heart. I'll forever be grateful for the honour you've bestowed upon me in that gesture. I will protect it, because it means everything to me."

"You have no idea how much that means to hear you say that," her smile was small, but it was filled with gratitude, "And thank _you_ , for trusting me with your heart. I can't imagine how many bricks three hundred years used to build the wall you protect yourself with, and to think you took that down for me. I don't even think my vampire brain could comprehend that."

I nodded. For so long it was a foreign concept to me, sharing everything with someone other than the Lord – I didn't know how people did it, but with her, I couldn't believe I'd waited so long to open up. I'd let myself drift so far away from her, I'd put myself on the wrong side of a glass wall, and that's what it took for me to realize that I wanted to be close.

I grinned thinking of little Arthur with the head cold, "You know, we have this saying in medicine, something I find myself telling people all the time: 'It's going to get worse, before it gets better,'" I smiled and raised my eyes to the leaking roof, while Esme laughed quietly to herself.

"I guess we just needed a few more holes until we could heal?" She wondered.

I looked back to her, sitting there on the floor, with her long legs extended out in front of her, crossed at the ankles, perfectly positioned so not a single drop fell upon her. Her hands in her lap, and her hair pulled away from her beautiful face, which smiled up at me with such an openness and such a beauty, I couldn't help but stare back with awe. The world outside the window, and inside our kitchen was the blandest grey, the colour of doom and great despair, but little did it matter, for I did not look at it. I stood there in the doorway, and I looked in the eys of the woman that I loved… and I saw home.

* * *

 _A.N._ _Hello everyone! Thank you all again for sharing your thoughts with me on last chapter – I really appreciate your reviews._

 _I'm not sure if 'White Coat Syndrome' was actually a term used back in the 1920s (My best guess is that it wasn't) but I think Carlisle would notice the increase in heart-rate in patients anxious when meeting a medical professional, and maybe called it that before it was proposed by researchers._

 _Back, long ago in chapter 8 in my authors note I mentioned that there was a pun in the last two lines of the chapter (which I do not expect anyone to remember so I will provide them here: "Doctors like to say "It'll get worse before it gets better" so I guess just then, we didn't quite have enough holes to heal for us to be back to where we had been once before. It had to get worse, but I had to believe that after that, we would finally begin to heal."). So I hope you can see know what the pun was! There were holes in the roof that caused rain to leak through the ceiling! The picture of Esme sitting on the floor of the kitchen surrounded by glasses and rain drops was the very first picture I got in my head, and actually the reason I decided to write Finding Home (and all the other sequels for that matter). So, it was very cool to flesh out this picture and sort of make it a moment in the story where Carlisle realises that the company and love he's wanted is still there with him even though his first companion is gone._

 _Next chapter will expand on this, and I probably could have had them both as one long chapter, but I wanted to get this up because I hate talking forever to write things. I can't promise_ when _the next part will be up, but I can promise that it will be uploaded one day._

 _Now that Carlisle has really realised that a person can be home (hence why the story is called 'Finding Home') Carlisle and Esme will be on an exploration of what its like for them to live as a couple without any 'children' especially in the late 1920s. And of course Edward is yet to find his home, so we'll have to check back up on him and see how it's going._

 _So tell me what you think of this chapter! I'm looking forward to hearing your views as always. I think I have a few reviews/PMs to reply to, and I will get onto them PRONTO!_

 _Oh, and just quickly for some minor details, as it's been pointed out a few times before, I do use Standard British English rather than Standard US English, it's just quicker for me to write this way rather than have to revisit the differences between the two while editing, and I know I write slow enough as it is already, so yes – sorry to you spelling/grammar lovers out there!_ _Other than that, I think that's all from me for now!_

 _Hope you enjoyed!_


	13. Time Spent Alone

_Chapter Thirteen: Time Spent Alone_

 _Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1927_

 _Esme_

The winter closed in as September gave way to October, and the northern winds soon brought with them November, until the snow arrived not long after December. Thanksgiving had gone quickly, and Christmas was around the corner. Although the town was prepping for St. Nicholas' visit, to Carlisle and I, it barely felt like the festive season. We were trying our best to join in with the joy, but we were not naive enough to think the first Thanksgiving and Christmas without Edward wouldn't be consumed by his absence. Yet, we were determined enough to not let it create holes in the strength we'd been building together.

As the bitter winter wind blew slushy snow around the courtyard, I rushed from one building to another, wrapping my coat tighter around my body, and burying my nose into my scarf, all in hopes of appearing human. If I were to be quite honest, the weather was mild, I could have happily been outside in summer clothing without a single shudder, but no human in their right mind would dare to do such a thing. My college classes were done for the day, so I rushed from the auditorium of my previous lecture to Dr. Turner's large office where he was undoubtedly awaiting my presence. Since Carlisle had encouraged me to begin major improvements on our Massachusetts home I'd gone to Dr. Turner with the plans and many hopes of advice. He'd thrown himself into it, falling in love with the drawings of the home that I loved in real life. We'd begun by planning the construction of the wall separating the bathroom and closet next to the master, which had been successfully completed last month. After the months of distance from Carlisle were over, and my husband came back to me, closer than ever before, I'd found more joy in restoring our old house on the outskirts of Cambridge. Despite the fact it was only the two of us, I once again had a family to make a home for. It was the single source of inspiration that was utterly vital in my renovation plans. Carlisle had jumped in feet first, teaching me how to plumb the entire house, and enabling us to turn the giant dingy third floor vacant room into the large bathroom and ridiculous walk in closet (which was getting full with an absurd amount of garments) that Dr. Turner and I designed.

I had spent many days relaxing in the claw foot bathtub by the windows, relishing in the hot running water. Many times Carlisle joined me, and together we found peace in each other. More than ever, Carlisle had come to be the refuge in which I found my most tranquil self, and what delighted me the most was that he seemed to feel the same with me. He had remarked one day that he most enjoyed that fact his home was mobile, and could always stay with him. It must have been hard to live in so many places over a lifetime, always sure to never let one touch your heart. It was realisations like that about Carlisle's life, which made me ever so grateful that he let me have his heart.

In the recent weeks, Dr. Turner had been helping me with the structural side of preparing our broken kitchen-dining room into a less-broken version of its former self. As I quickly made my way down an almost empty corridor, the wind howled and groaned outside, throwing water-logged snowballs at the window making some of the very few people I passed, flinch. I repressed a smile as I reached the door I knew well; grateful I was unable to feeling the bone-chilling winter cold.

I gently knocked upon the dark wooden door, before the familiar voice called for me to come in. The door protested slightly with a long creaking noise as I cracked it open. I leaned up against the wood slightly as I pushed, for the door was very heavy, and despite my best guess that I could open it with a single finger, the necessity to maintain the human façade was much more imperative than indulging the little impulsive voice that wished I would try.

Dr. Turner's office was – what I assumed to be – one of the biggest offices on campus, with a large table occupying the center, a desk to the left, and a wide fireplace on the right, which housed a crackling fire that illuminated the room in a warm light.

"Mrs. Cullen!" Dr. Turner smiled from his spot by the window, with his favourite tweed jacket on, and a pensive light in his eyes, "Very good to see you again."

The middle-aged professor seemed more tired than usual as the fire cast shadows on his face, but perhaps it was simply the time of year that made him seem so.

I smiled, and pushed the door closed behind me, "It's good to see you too, Dr."

"Come in," he murmured waving me forward as he started toward the wooden table, and we assumed our usual positions. I spread the plans out, and we huddled over them pointing, discussing, and drawing. I didn't much like winter, for indoors the humans wisely kept all windows shut, minimising the amount of fresh air in the room to dilute the tempting smell of human blood, and even though the warm fire made the warm scent seem stronger, and venom occasionally pooled in my mouth, I would always swallow it down, for in the forefront of my mind was a strong voice reminding me that Dr. Turner was a person – a lovely person – and not a meal.

The hours escaped us as we enjoyed scholarly discussion over the house plans, as the cold temperature outside frosted up the windows, and the warm temperature inside had condensation streaming down them. Dr. Turner gave me books upon books of ideas and inspiration for the kitchen, things to do with design, construction, and of course – proper roof repair (our kitchen roof was only temporarily fixed – the thought of it breaking again filled both Carlisle and I with a bizarre sense of amusement).

I'd completely lost track of time as we rearranged the kitchen layout for the twenty-third time when there was a gentle knock upon the door.

Dr. Turner straightened up from where he was bent over the plans on the other side of the table, and I look toward the door in a moment of confusion, for there was definitely a knock on the door, but unusually there was no heartbeat on the other side of the wood.

As Dr. Turner called for the person to come in, I gasped and looked to the clock, only to find three hours had passed and the person who was now gently opening the office door would be no other than the husband I was supposed to meet ten minutes ago.

"Carlisle!" I breathed, looking to the door, where my husband's bright smile lit up his familiar face, "I'm so sorry, I lost track of the time."

He smiled and shook his head, "No matter. I only thought I'd come and find you to ask how everything is going, and to finally meet Dr. Turner."

"Doctor Cullen!" Dr. Turner exclaimed in his tired voice, he grinned warmly as the creases by his eyes grew more pronounced, "What a pleasure it is to finally meet you."

Carlisle softly closed the door behind him, thankfully having held it open long enough to welcome in a brilliant burst of fresh air, reducing the saturation of the human scent.

"Please," he murmured as Dr. Turner made his way around the table, "The pleasure is all mine. I can't thank you enough for all your help with our challenge of a house."

"Oh," Dr. Turner laughed as the two men shook hands, "I do love a challenge. Good man! You are frozen to the core! The weather must have dropped below freezing by now, please, warm yourself by the fire."

Carlisle shook his head, "No, no, thank you, but I happen to have the cliché cold doctor hands. The weather, although wild, is not as cold as one may think."

"That is good to hear," Dr. Turner nodded, making his way back around the table as I slipped my hand into my husband's, "I fear this winter shall be more harsh on me than any before, the fall alone made me shiver in my seat."

"Oh?" Carlisle wondered, his welcoming light turning into something softer, gentler, something distantly familiar, "Are you feeling quite well?"

A corner of Turner's lips turned up, "You're a medical doctor, I forget," he laughed to himself, "Oh, I've been for visits, they say this and they say that, but I'll be fine. Winters are simply hard times."

Carlisle gave him a compassionate smile, and nodded, "Well, after everything you've done for us, if there is anything at all we can do for you, please do not hesitate to ask."

"Very kind of you," Doctor Turner smiled, obviously touched, "Thank you."

"Would you like to see what we've been discussing of the kitchen?" I wondered looking up at Carlisle, his expression turned indulgent when I grinned up at him.

With a little chuckle, and eager eyes he replied, "Of course."

I pulled him closer to the table with the plans, and time flew by quickly in that room with the snowy windows.

.~*~.

The car ride home was comfortably quiet, there was a light dust of snow falling from the sky, but the ground was too wet with the past days deluge that the snow had no hope of sticking, just simply turning to sludge like it had been all day.

"Are you looking forward to tonight?" Carlisle wondered, flicking a quick glance my way before turning his eyes back to the darkening road.

I smiled, thinking of our plans for the evening. It was the hospital's annual Christmas party that night, and Carlisle had suggested we make an appearance, and maybe even have a little fun. Although I'd met a few of his colleagues here and there, I'd never seen them all in one place before. A part of me was even hoping I could catch a glimpse of the infamous Doctor Murphy, just so I could put a face to the name I so often heard.

I nodded, smiling at Carlisle, "I am. I am also looking forward to hunting," I let out a slightly self-conscious laugh, "As much as I value the long hours Dr. Turner dedicates to helping me with the house, being trapped in a room with a human for so long – and a warm room at that – is very taxing. It takes all my control to focus on anything aside from the thirst." As I spoke, the fire in my throat intensified, and Carlisle didn't miss my wince.

He reached over to me with one hand, leaving the other on the wheel, and flicked me a small smile, "I know it hurts, but you are doing so unbelievably well with this. The pain you experience is only going to make you stronger, and the fact that you _can_ focus on other things is so incredible, love. You should be proud of yourself for this."

I nodded, and squeezed the hand he gave me, knowing that the long hours spent with Dr. Turner were going to help me control my thirst at the party. I was nervous though, and Carlisle knew this, for what would happen if there were to be an accident? What would happen if someone's blood was spilled? I'd been a vampire for six years and found extraordinary luck in the few number of times that I had been in public when such an event occurred. If someone cut themselves on a glass, would I have the strength to resist? I fretted over this to Carlisle one night, he assured me that I would be fine, and if something did happen that saw me was unable to control myself, he would do his best to hold me back, and we would simply disappear leaving nothing but rumours in our wake – after all, that is how we always seemed to go.

Carlisle carefully pulled into our long driveway and masterfully navigated his way down the sludgy dirt road. We left the car in the garage, and ducked into the house to change into hunting gear, before disappearing into the thicks of the forest.

The light snow turned to thick rain after a short while, as we darted between the trees, losing our humanity and giving into our heightened senses. Catching the scent of some unappealing deer, I scaled up the trunk of a bare tree, and silently jumped between the branches, always making sure I was downwind from my prey. Attacking from above had become my most favourite way to hunt, I guess I'd never let go of the curious little tree climber I was when I was sixteen. I took down a few of the deer, and once I was done, I found Carlisle feasting on a few members of the same herd not far away.

As I leaned against one of the bare tree trunks, watching my husband drink, I internally laughed at my younger self who thought it odd to see the composed doctor feasting on his prey in such a way. I suppose it was one of my biggest mistakes, seeing Carlisle only as the perfect doctor, restrained creator and wise mentor, not seeing him for the man that he really was.

He turned around once he'd finished, and met my eyes. He laughed quietly, walking toward me, "Staring are you, my love?"

"I'd say admiring." I grinned, "You really are quite something doctor," I reached out for him when he neared, and he pulled me into his embrace.

"Takes one to know one," he breathed in my ear, his beautiful scent was intoxicating.

I pulled back to capture his lips in a kiss, losing myself slightly in the damp forest, relishing in the comfort of his heaven. He pulled back after a short time, and rested his forehead against mine, slight smile gracing his lips, "As much as I would love to spend the entire night here with you in my arms, love, we should go home, and get cleaned up for this party."

I cocked my head to the side, weighing his words, unwilling to let him far out of my arms, and decided on a compromise, "Let's multitask."

.~*~.

"They won't really miss us if we don't show up, will they?" His deep voice hummed through me as he peppered kisses on my exposed neck, the bath water sloshed lightly as he moved.

I laughed quietly, gazing out the window, as the clouds in the sky had once again turned white and begun scattering the world in snowflakes.

"Do you think the weather will make its mind up, and choose between snow and rain any time soon?" I wondered quietly.

"We could stay right here and watch, if you'd like?" He suggested against my skin, and I didn't miss the hopeful tone to his voice.

I laughed, and relaxed back into his chest, "Oh, believe me, there is nothing more that I would like, but we should get ready for the party." I tore my eyes away from the wintery scene outside, and attempted to turn around to see his face but he wouldn't raise his lips from my shoulder. The white bathroom was darkening as the afternoon outside turned to night, although it was still early.

"I don't think they'll miss us," he murmured quietly, "They won't even notice we're not there."

I fought the urge to roll my eyes, "Oh, definitely not. It's not as though we're very conspicuous, are we?"

Against my skin I felt his lips curve into a smile, "Not at all."

As he wrapped his arms tighter around my waist, I couldn't help but dream of a scenario where our absence would go unnoticed. A scenario where we could stay submerged in the cooling water of the claw foot bath that sat atop the extravagant stone floors Carlisle insisted we install in our newly renovated bathroom, for no expense was to be spared on my whims and wants. The walls were covered in heartbreakingly beautiful white tiles, all except for the door that led to the bedroom on the left wall, and the door that went to the wardrobe beside the vanity across from the bath. The mirror above the vanity reflected the miserable scene outside the window, and the happy scene of a husband and wife in their giant tub. I smiled at myself in the mirror, with my hair piled atop my head and bright golden eyes. It was beginning to feel real in a way, the scene in the mirror wasn't simply a scene I'd find in my dreams, but it was a scene I was truly living. Looking away from the mirror, I closed my eyes and focussed on the feeling of Carlisle's lips on my shoulder.

"The water is getting cooler," I murmured quietly awhile later, even though the water was still perfectly warm to me.

His voice was a soft as mine when he replied, "Doesn't bother me."

Although my resolve to attend the hospital's Christmas party was not strong, I insisted, "They _will_ notice if we don't show."

Yet his reply was the same as before, "Doesn't bother me."

Shaking my head with a smile, I got up from the bath and he groaned, "That bothers me."

Laughing and flicking his beautiful sad face an impish grin, I reached for one of the plush towels that hung from the wall, and wrapped it tight around my body as I stepped onto the warm stone floor, thankful I was unable to feel the cold. I let my hair down from its ties and couldn't help but smile at my sad looking husband.

"Come on mister, it's one Christmas party and then the rest of forever to spend in the bathtub waiting for snow to fall."

He laughed and heaved himself out of the tub. I chucked him his towel before turning around and heading toward the vanity. Out of my collection of headpieces, I'd managed to narrow my choice down to two, although part of me wished I could go extra festive and wear red, I thought it might be a little… inappropriate for a vampire.

The headbands lay on the stone countertop, beside the large vases of sunflowers Carlisle had picked up from the florist in town. He knew I preferred to grow my own flowers, even sometimes bringing home bulbs and seeds rather than cut bouquets, but the winters were not kind to my favourite types of flowers, so my husband sourced them elsewhere.

I held them both up and turned around as he wrapped his towel around his waist, "Blue, or green?"

He cocked his head to the side, and pondered them for a moment, "Green is more festive."

I nodded, turning back to the counter and placing the headband back down, "And red is too risqué?" I joked, watching him run his hand through his wet hair as he made his way toward me.

He laughed, and kissed me on the cheek from behind before heading for the wardrobe, "Perhaps just a little."

I chuckled to myself, opening the draw to get out my hair things.

.~*~.

As I entered the bedroom from the wardrobe I saw him standing by the bed, doing up his tie. The stark contrast between his dark suit and pale skin made me wish we'd stayed in the bath longer. He looked at me and smiled as I entered, golden eyes burning with love and desire.

"Could you do me up, once you're done?" I wondered, heading toward him.

He dropped his half-done tie, and met me halfway, "Of course."

I turned around and as he slowly did up my zip, I saw a tiny corner of white material poking out of the work shoes he'd left by the door.

"Carlisle," I sighed in exasperation, "Did you leave your dirty socks inside your shoes again?"

"Uh," he finished his task and I turned around to catch his guilty expression, "Yes?"

A hand came to rest on my hip, "Is it really that hard to put them in the washing basket when you take them off instead of sticking them back in your shoes, and then re-wearing them over and over again?"

He gave a half shrug, "Well, our feet don't sweat so we don't have to wash the dirt out of them."

"But you work at a hospital! All of those nasty bacteria from the poor sick people could fall off and land on you, then your socks don't get washed. I don't see how hygienic that is?"

I watched his eyes fill with mirth as he tried to hide his smile behind a guilty expression, I rolled my eyes, marched over to the door, and picked up the dirty socks, before throwing them in the nearly empty washing basket.

"I'm sorry love, I wasn't thinking, we all have moments like that…" his forlorn expression turned mischievous as he continued, "Which is why I keep finding your stockings in the top drawer."

I nodded heading over to the wardrobe where my shoes lay beside the door, "That's the sock drawer."

"And underwear." He grinned, "They get tangled all through my undergarments."

I bit the inside of my lip, recalling him mentioning that in passing one day… I flicked him an impish grin as I picked up my shoes, "Sorry."

He laughed, "I apologise also." His hands went back to his tie, and as he finished fixing it, he shot me a cheeky smile, "But are you apologising for the stockings, or call bacteria nasty? Because I'm much more offended about the latter."

Slotting my feet into the shoes I shook my head in fondness and laughed, "You and your microbes."

.~*~.

It had stopped raining as we stepped into the night, and proceeded to make our way to the car, for which I was glad - I wasn't too fond of the idea that we might arrive at the party as a sodden mess. The drive to town wasn't long; Carlisle parked the car a few streets away from the town hall as the rain was still absent from the night, and I took a few deep breaths to steady my nerves at the thought of being stuck in a room filled of people who smelled delicious. I'd done it before, I could do it again. I tucked my arm in his when we got out, and he placed a chaste kiss on my cheek.

"You are going to do absolutely fine, my love." Carlisle ensured me as we began to walk down the street, "I have every faith in you."

"I don't know what I'm more nervous about, my thirst, or meeting your colleagues."

He laughed, "You should be worried about neither, the colleagues of mine that have been lucky enough to meet you have adored you, and your hours spent with Dr. Turner have proven you are rather adept at controlling your thirst, love. Just keep calm, and trust in yourself."

As we neared the Town Hall, I spied a few partygoers climbing the steps into the brilliantly bright building that cheery music spilled from. A few garlands hung from the doorways, and a sign out the front announced this was the venue of the 'Cambridge General Hospital Christmas Party.' Laughter and chatter contended with the music as we quietly climbed the stone steps, and were greeted by a lovely elderly man at the door, who told us where to go, not that we needed that, the loud noise would have been guide enough.

As we entered the left ballroom, I was faced with a plethora of red, green and gold garlands twinkling with electric lights, as couples swung around the floor to the cheery festive tunes, and the sounds of the saxophones, trumpets and cymbals of the band filled the room. There was another banner declaring that this was definitely the 'Cambridge General Hospital Christmas Party,' above the band at the back of the room. People waved at us from the tables filling the front of the room as we entered, and I wasn't quite sure where to go, or what to do first, thankfully Carlisle seemed to have formed a plan. He led me toward the tables, flicking me a grin as we passed the dance floor, the sequins of the women's dresses sparkled as they twirled around.

We spent the next while mingling with hospital staff; Carlisle introduced me to some of his team I hadn't met before, and their significant others. We sat down at their table and talked for a long while, it was nice to get to know the people Carlisle spent so much of his day with, and those who I heard so much about, although the horrid Dr. Murphy was no where to be seen.

After a while the large table had emptied, people had dispersed - some to the dance floor, others to other tables, and all that remained were Dr. Petwer, Dr. Diggins, Mary, Carlisle and I. The men were happily discussing some medical procedures, while I chatted happily away to Mary, keeping an eye on the dance floor, itching to twirl around to the happy Christmas music in my husband's arms. Thankfully, the ballroom doors had been left open, and the human scent drenched air was leaving the room as fresh air replaced it, for which I was undeniably thankful.

I was deep in conversation with Mary when I caught a perplexed expression on my husband's face. He, Dr. Diggins and Dr. Pewter were all looking out to the dance floor curiously. I followed their line of sight, searching the sea of sparking, swirling people for any sign of interest. Although there were some very short-cut dresses, unusual hair styles, and close couples, I couldn't pin-point a single one that would have caused such an expression on my husbands face, until I spied a boy with strawberry blonde hair and narrowed brown eyes glaring daggers in the direction of the doctors.

I listened intently as Dr. Pewter turned back to Carlisle and wondered, "What on Earth did you do to that boy, Carlisle? Did you murder his pet? He looks awfully incensed with you."

Carlisle shook his head in bewilderment, and I grew very confused as to why the men assumed the glares were meant for my husband and not all three of them, "That, I have been wondering for quite some time, I haven't the slightest idea."

"Don't pay him any mind, doctors," Nurse Mary cut in, I'd barely registered that she'd noticed my lack of attention and tuned into the men's conversation instead, "That boy is awfully protective of his sister, and doesn't much like that she's left our team."

"I always meant to ask why she left," Dr. Pewter replied, looking from the dance floor to Mary and back, "It seemed so abrupt and –"

"And entirely her business." Mary replied curtly, with her lips pursed in distain, "If she wanted everyone to know the details of her departure, I have no doubt she would have shared them."

Three pairs of wide eyes looked to the nurse, surprised at her abrupt reply.

"I am sure," Dr. Diggins replied slowly, "I can't help but feel that we may have been involved in her motives to leave?"

Mary shook her head definitively, "I assure you, you were not."

I could tell from Carlisle's worried expression that he didn't believe the brusque woman for a second.

Carlisle took a deep breath and smiled at me, "Well, I think I owe my wife a dance. Perhaps we'll be harder to see on the dance floor."

Diggins and Pewter made unintelligible noises in reply, as Carlisle stood up and extended his hand to me. I smiled, feeling the usual wave of relaxation come over me when my hand fit perfectly in his. Once I was standing, I wrapped my arm in his, and we made our way toward the dance floor.

I was about to ask him what was going on at the table, when we were stopped, before we could even make it to the twirling groups of people, by none other than boy who'd been glaring our way.

He looked at Carlisle with cold, hard, angry eyes, and squared his shoulders before saying in a very dark voice, "I thought you were a good man, Cullen. As it turns out I couldn't be further from the truth." His eyes narrowed for a split second before he spit out, " _Coward_."

The young boy turned on his heel and stalked away before Carlisle could reply. From the look on my husband's face, I think I was more offended than he was. As the boy disappeared out the door, the young woman he was dancing with stared at him with wide eyes. Quickly she turned back to Carlisle, her brown orbs filled with tears as she ran forward and began to apologise with her empty palms facing us and an expression filled with shame.

With his free arm, Carlisle reached out for her elbow, "Louise, do not fret; you'll work yourself into hysterics."

"Oh, Doctor Cullen, I'm just so horribly embarrassed by my brother. There is no reason he should have ever addressed you in such a manner. I am so, so very sorry, if there is anything I can do to –" The poor girl, Louise, choked on her sobs as she spoke, and began to shake.

Carlisle shook his head, "Do not apologise, Louise. I cannot help but feel your brother's words were fair," his words were soft as she sobbed. "The other doctors and I would very much like to know if we upset you in any way, or if anyone did, for you to leave the team so abruptly."

She dropped her hands, and shook her head profusely, trying to hold back her tears while taking deep gulps of air in the process. I remembered enough of being an emotional human to know that breathing too erratically was never a good idea.

I covered her hands with a gloved one of my own, and murmured, "Breathe, dear. Everything is going to be quite alright."

She looked to me then, registering my presence for the first time. Her tear filled eyes opened wide, and her mouth came slightly ajar, before she choked out, "Mrs. Cullen! … Are you?"

I gave her a small smile, "I am. It's lovely to meet you."

"I am so sorry."

"Believe me, it's alright." I squeezed her hands gently, "However if there is something wrong and my husband, or we, can help you, you must let us know what it is."

She shook her head, "It's all been blown awfully out of proportion. My brother shouldn't have said anything, and I shouldn't be weeping in such a way. I beg your forgiveness," it surprised me that she directed this plea at me rather than at Carlisle, almost as though I was her reprieve from looking at the man by my side.

"You needn't beg for something you already have, dear."

She gave me a shaky smile, before stepping back, "I should go. I don't want to make a scene, not here, not with these people. Thank you both, and again, I do sincerely apologise."

She turned around before we could reply and quickly left the ballroom, checking worriedly for onlookers on her way.

Once she was gone, I turned to my husband's baffled face, "Carlisle, what was all of that?" I wondered in a whisper, "What on earth is going on?"

He shook his head in bewilderment and pulled me into his arms, before we merged onto the small dance floor, and melted into the quiet song.

"Something strange has been happening for a while," he murmured into my ear as we swayed and turned, "With Louise, Frank and Murphy. I've come to suspect that Murphy has done or said something to Nurse Louise – she's left the team, and when I ran into her the other day she seemed awfully flighty. Frank's not taken any of my classes this semester, and he's been avoiding me too. I just assumed it was nothing out of the ordinary, these things happen, but it's increasingly becoming odd. Even Mary is making me suspicious." He shook his head, as worry lines creased his forehead.

"What do you think happened?" I wondered, as we moved to the music.

"I hate to even think about it." He sighed, "Nothing may have happened at all, but I can't shake the feeling something has. The nurses have both asked me to keep my nose out of it, in so many words, you heard them, but…"

I nodded, "But she's obviously suffering and you can't help but feel that you should do something about it."

He sighed again, and gave me a small smile, "You can't save everyone you meet."

"But you can try," I reminded him.

"How'd you get to be so wise?" He grinned with a glint of teasing shining in his golden eyes.

"Well, as I girl I read a lot of books," he laughed and placed a quick kiss on my cheek, as I said "But that last one I learned off you."

* * *

 _A.N. **Happy Thanksgiving to all of you who celebrate!**_

 _Surprise – it's me! I'm still here! Sorry this took so long, but it's here now! Thank you to everyone for your lovely reviews and for sticking with this story even when I take so long to update it. I hope you enjoy this chapter!_

 _Now, on a more sombre note, I know, globally, we're all going through some pretty trying times at the moment, and a lot of people are running low on one integral component required for a happy life:_ _ **hope**_ _. This was a major source of motivation for me to keep writing this chapter, because I know whenever I read something I love it makes me happy, and if I can make you happy for the short, or long time that you spend reading these stories, then my time is time well spent. The sharing of happiness and joy is something we cannot forget to do as we navigate our way through this period of struggle – be that caused by natural disasters, politics, wars or personal lives – we must never lose the delicate flame that is hope. Writing this story, with these characters, who really have the odds stacked against them and yet who continue to strive for what they believe in and what they feel is right highlights, for me, one of the most beautiful aspects of storytelling. These characters (although make-believe, and in made-up situations) show us that when all that we seem to be faced with is struggle and hard times, we must always work hard to make the best of these times, to make the best of these circumstances, to make the best choices we can possibly make, and as Esme likes to say in these stories - It is not your circumstances that define you, but rather, how you chose to deal with them._

 _So no matter what, may you always choose hope, and love, and peace._

 _To end on a happier note: I thought (because you're all lovely, patient, and loyal readers, and I'm an awful tease), I should start giving you 'Coming Up Next in Finding Home' teasers for each new chapter. So, for chapter 14: I think I must have seen_ Water for Elephants _in a store the other day… Robert Pattinson… 1930s… circus… see you there!_

 _Much love xx_


	14. Nomad

_Chapter Fourteen: Nomad_

 _Somewhere in West Michigan, 1928_

 _Edward_

Lake Michigan has banks in four states in the US; it has water that runs through thousands of veins, and waves that fill so many memories. I grew up on the southern banks of Lake Michigan, I knew it's moods like the back of my hand, I'd memorised it's smell, the way the sun set on the calm liquid in the middle of summer, and I knew the salty taste even though my human memories had long since faded. It seemed to me like I knew everything about that lake. It was almost as if the water of the lake really did run through my veins, despite the fact that was entirely impossible. But no matter how in tune I was with that lake, it wasn't the call of the water that had me running across the state to its shores after my brief visit to Detroit in the spring of 1928 – it was the call of a killer.

I'd been constantly scanning for things of the like, deciding that preventative measures were far more constructive than any revenge could ever be. It was only for that reason that the singular voice crept into my mind, and separated itself from the numbing mass noise of the others. I'd been wandering the streets of a small town when I'd heard it, sporadic cloud cover shading my skin as my sunglasses did the same for my eyes, and managed to duck into a nearby forest without attracting any attention.

I bolted through the trees as fast as I could, hoping the thoughts I heard would not turn into actions before I could intervene. The trees and bushes were blurs of greens and brows, barely rustling at my movement and my feet did not touch the slightly muddy Earth for long enough to leave a mark of where'd I'd been. I ran so fast I nearly flew, more powerful than the hero I'd always dreamed of being as a child when I'd dig a wooden sword into the ground and announce "Edward Masen – defender of all!" My four-foot self would never have thought he'd grow to be powerful enough to make a difference. Yet, as I flew through bushes, between trunks and under leafy canopies, making a difference was exactly what I was about to do. The exhilaration of that thought pushed me further and faster, however, I nearly came to a sudden halt as a plethora of new voices filtered into my head.

There were a crowd of people surrounding whoever was plotting murder, stupidly I'd on presumed there'd be culprit and victim, not witnesses. My angered fist pounded straight through the middle of a nearby trunk as I growled in absolute rage. Why did I think that the single voice I was searching for would be isolated and on its own?

I wouldn't let this stop me, I soon decided, before I fell back into a run. This man may not be alone with his prey, but that did not mean his prey was in any less danger – more people could be in danger, in fact. Collateral damage was a stomach churning thought. The voices grew louder, and the scents grew stronger as I neared what seemed to be a clearing by the banks of the lake. Intertwined with the tempting scent of human, I caught a sour whiff of animal I was mostly unfamiliar with. When I reached the edge of the opening, I hid in the bushes and glanced between some branches, just making out the camp of what looked to be a circus. Of all the things it could be, it had to be a circus.

I suppose I could have had worse luck. Teenage runaways joining the circus wasn't an awfully uncommon thing. From my spot in the bushes, I searched the campsite for the best, and least obvious route to sneak in - seeing the source of the strange sour animal smell (a great elephant) as I searched - and found it not too far away. Making sure my pack was secure upon my back, I crept around to the tents I'd spied, and quickly – too quickly for human eyes – I sprang from the greens, between the canvas sheets, and into the pool of people milling around.

It looked as though the circus-folk had been settled in the clearing for quite some time. Once vivid greens were trampled into sorry looking gold blades of grass that lay smeared along the dirt by cause of too many heavy footprints. As I effortlessly melted into the sea of humans walking from here to there and no where in particular, I listened to the mental voices over the sounds of the old faded canvas flapping in the wind with loud thwacks as it hit itself again and again matching one poor person's cardiac arrhythmia that I could hear, and surveyed the crowds for any hint of the person who was thinking of committing a heinous crime.

Those who were not walking (somewhat aimlessly) about were either huddled in groups under canvas canopies, or sitting inside the doorways of carriages. One such woman lounging on the steps to a carriage with fine features and fair hair, looking undeniably pretty but most unlike a lady with one leg dangling beneath her and the other on the step as she leaned against the arched opening to a carriage. Her clothes could barely be considered anything more than the most revealing undergarments but that was not the most striking facet of her appearance. Her eyes, so bright and blue were piercing right through my glasses, and slicing into my own eyes. She stared at me as I walked by,my appearance came to the forefront of her mind. A lonely man with a coat too big and dark glasses looking most out of place. More pale than the palest of carnival folk, more unhappy than the man who ran it. It was an image I tried to block out of my mind, but an image that fascinated her.

Suddenly, the voice I was hunting came into my mind, picturing the girl with the pale hair.

I stopped in my tracks, and turned around on the spot, analysing the surroundings for any trace of the man I hunted. I tried to hide onto his mental voice, as hundreds chattered in my head. Faces flew by me in a blur that I saw with the clearest of eyes, but the voice I wanted was getting further and further away. Green eyes, grey eyes, blue eyes, brown, blonde hair, grey hair, brown hair, none – I saw it all, and I saw nothing. There was a growl gurgling at the base of my throat that I had to swallow down so not to disturb the humans, or lose the fragile grip I had on my fake humanity. My eyes narrowed beneath their shade as I continued to look around the crowded clearing searching for the voice I was mere seconds from losing.

"Hello," a little female voice chimed in my ear, interrupting my search.

"I'm busy," I muttered, "Go away."

Great offense clouded the thoughts of whomever it was that was trying to talk to me, but I cared little. The man stalking the pretty blonde was fading even more.

"Well that is no way to talk to a lady," the girl said as the man's voice finally slipped from my gift's grasp. In anger I turned to the girl, slightly surprised to see the blonde from the doorway and the stalker's thoughts standing beside me with a very miffed look furrowing her eyebrows and narrowing her watery human eyes.

I looked her up and down, with her barely-there clothes, her tapping foot, jutted out hip and folded arms beneath her breast in a way most improper.

"Well you're not much of a lady," I muttered arrogantly, dismissing her. My interest was not in her but rather in someone's whose was.

"You rude, insolent little brat!" She exclaimed reaching up to slap me across the face, but I dodged quickly, causing her to narrow her eyes even more, as she began to wonder what my reason was for being amongst her 'talented' folk.

"Yes," I murmured in reply, seeing no point in sparking a conversation with her. I needed to find where this man was. As I ignored the pretty blonde, I ran through all the places he was most likely to be – the food tent, the restroom area, his quarters, where else? I scanned the clearing with all its tents and people, looking, searching, until my eyes once again fell upon the pretty pale face of the fair-haired girl. Her hands had moved to her hips, her lips were set in a frown and her eyes were so narrow I thought they might soon close. _Her._ That's where I'd be most likely to find him – with the person he stalked.

Suddenly, I was on damage control, but without my sparkling golden eyes that were once upon a time the focal point of my ability to transfix a woman, I wondered how I would trick this girl into forgiving me.

"My word," I breathed feigning impressive wretchedness, "Please do forgive me. You see, I was in the middle of most important business, I didn't happen to realize whom I was talking to." Her face softened slightly as I spoke, and her mind grew less annoyed, so I continued in hopes of placating her further, "I believe I acted inexcusably, and you have every right to make such a statement. I assure you, I meant nothing of it. Please, do forgive me…" I trailed off; hinting for an introduction.

She took the bait, sighed, and dropped her arms from her hips to her sides as the wind blew a gust of scent my way, bristling tendrils of her fair curls with it – my word she smelled delectable, "My name's Chantelle," she murmured, her eyes still narrowed slightly, but her lips turning up at the sides, "What's yours?"

Trying to ignore her scent, and swallowing a mouthful of venom, I replied automatically, "John."

She pursed her lips looking most unimpressed and shifted her weight to one leg as she shook her head, "If you're last name is going to be Doe, you're not very creative."

I turned around to get away from her scent, in fear it may distract me too much, and shrugged, "Then you can call me Mr. Not Very Creative."

She followed me, coming to stand by my side, thankfully out of the wind, and rolled her eyes, "I'll call you Mr. Not Very Funny Either."

"That should suit me just fine," I replied beginning to walk around a pod of lovely smelling humans who dwelled in the middle of the clearing. Chantelle followed as I made my way toward the tents, catching a glimpse of the thinning spring clouds above me. It was about time I found some shelter, in case of stray sunrays.

"Honestly though," she persisted as we neared a fraying and fading blue tent, "What's your name?"

I shook my head, giving her a half shrug, but not bothering to glance her way, "Whatever you want it to be."

She sighed, which was more of a huff than an expression of exasperation, and waited a brief moment before replying in a tone that was a little too chipper for me, "In that case, I'll call you Honey." As she spoke, she pictured the sun in my hair as I smiled down at her, and compared it mentally to honey. I fought to roll my eyes as we slipped underneath the shade of the canvas.

We walked passed a table with a stray packet of cards sitting atop it that I swiped as she wondered, "Dontcha wanna know why?"

I opened the packet, discarding the box on another stray table, before beginning to shuffle them as I replied, "I'm sure you'll tell me anyway."

"Because if you lightened up a little," she grinned, "Your hair would be like honey."

I flicked her a glance a raised my eyebrows beneath the glasses, "If I need to lighten up a little, why don't you follow some already lightened up person around?"

Her little lips spread into a wider smile, and looking very pleased with herself, she replied, "Because I do like a man with demons, and why are you shuffling those cards?"

I flicked her a glare out the corner of my eye as I replied, "I don't have demons, what's wrong with me shuffling the cards?"

"Everyone shuffles cards," she shrugged, "I just pictured you as the sort of man who does things others don't dare to do."

I couldn't help the little grin that played at the corners of my lips, turning them upward. I raised my eyebrow in challenge and pulled a pen from my pocket, before drawing on one of the cards, "Aren't I rebellious?"

She laughed, and shook her head, "No. But you do have demons."

"I don't."

She took a step closer, and looked up at me through her lashes, which were clumped with some strange black… stuff I had no name for, "Then take off those shades and show me your soul."

"I don't have a soul," I said as I capped the pen and put it back in my pocket.

She laughed and stepped back, obviously noting her attempts at persuasion were never going to work on me, "That's just the demons talking."

"You're very persistent," I noted, stepped away from the table that I found the cards on, and resumed shuffling them.

"It's a talent," she shrugged.

"Is that why you're in the circus?" I wondered, "Because you begged so much they gave in and let you join?"

Her eyes narrowed at me for a moment, before she shook her head, "No, I am very flexible. We all have real talents, you know. See Marble over there?" She inclined her head to a stocky woman that sat on the grass, chatting to a tanned man with a top hat in a very animated way, "She can predict the weather." Her tone was proud – I could tell from her thoughts that she honestly believed the woman possessed such a gift. I fought the all-consuming urge to roll my eyes. "What can _you_ do?"

A little smirk tugged at my cheek, "I can read minds."

Her face was blank for a moment before it lit up, "Really? What number am I thinking of?" The lack of originality in her requested failed to astound me, as she mentally shouted: _Thirteen._

Grinning to myself, I replied "Twelve."

She rolled her eyes, "No."

"Uh ha," I nodded, holding out the deck of cards to her, "Take the top one."

She narrowed her eyes at me, before turning the top card over; there lay an ace with a plus sign in front of it. She stopped dead in her tracks, as I continued on.

"Hey!" She called out after me, "How'd you do that?"

"I'm Mr. Talented," I replied back dryly, not bothering to flick her a glance as I scanned the minds of the men around me looking for her stalker. I spied a thick group of clouds heading toward the sun, and started away from the tents.

"You're just like Marble," she marvelled.

"Who is Marble?" I wondered absently, "I'm nothing like Marble."

"Really?" She did not sound convinced, "Then how can she predict the weather?"

"Tell me," I stopped and looked down at the persistent little girl, "Does she spend a lot of time looking at the clouds?"

Her eyebrows bunched together in a quizzical expression, "She's always looking at the clouds."

"Funny how a lack of clouds will tell you it's going to be a sunny day."

She blinked blankly for a brief moment before her face lit up once more, "Oh my gosh, you're right!" I gave her a tight smile before I carried on, walking in the shade of the tents, scanning the surrounding minds, waiting for the clouds to cover the sun.

"You really can read minds!"

"No, I happen to have also been trained by the cloud whisperers."

"Oh, har har," she said, "You know, for someone so young, you're awful condescending."

Passing a table I abandoned the cards and wondered, "Then why are you still here?"

Her reply was simple, "You fascinate me."

I rolled my eyes, "Then by all means. Follow."

"Thanks," she grinned.

"You're not well versed in sarcasm, are you?" I wondered, stopping once more to look at her.

She shrugged, "Sure, I am. I'm also well versed in ignoring it."

Rolling my eyes, I glanced quickly to the sky as a thick band of clouds finally came to cover the stray rays. I ducked from out under the canvas tents, and joined the crowds of people that mulled around in the open, the girl – what was her name? _Chantelle_ – unsurprisingly followed me with those bright blue, curious eyes.

There was no trace of the thoughts that attracted me to where the circus folk had put up camp, but I wondered if that was perhaps because Chantelle was no longer visible, in the crowd of people. Spying the banks of Lake Michigan over the other side of the clearing, I bee-lined that way with her on my heels.

"You're not part of the carnival are you?" She wondered, struggling to catch up with me.

In her mind I could tell there was no way I could convince her otherwise, so I went with the truth, "No."

"Then what are you doing here?"

I shrugged, "Following my demons."

She rolled her eyes, "To do what?"

Passing thicker canvas tent, I gave it a tug and flicked her a wicked grin, "Tear down the tents and wreck havoc."

"That's evil," she noted, with narrow eyes and a frown on her lips.

"And if it is a necessary evil?" I wondered, as we cleared the tents and neared the banks.

"Necessary evils are only a matter of perspective," she argued, and I wondered how someone like her ended up in the circus.

I shrugged, swinging my backpack off my shoulders and dumping it by a boulder, " _Life_ is a matter of perspective."

"And what is yours?" She watched intently as I slipped off my socks and shoes, before rolling up my trousers.

When I straightened, I looked her in the eye, "That necessary evil is real."

She simply shook her head thinking, _No, that's not good enough,_ and then looked at me with a horrid look of something akin to pity forefront in her watery human eyes, "That's just the demons talking."

I sighed, "For the umpteenth time, miss. I do not have demons."

"That means nothing," she insisted, "If you do or if you do not, you'd always say that."

I raised my eyebrows beneath my glasses as I walked the short way to the water, and dipped my feet in the warmth, "Trust me."

"How do I trust a man whose eyes I'm yet to see? I know nothing of you. In case you haven't noticed, you're still yet to remove those fancy dark glasses, Mr. Magic. And how are your toes not frozen?"

"I have weak eyes, the sun won't do them well, but I have hardy feet, the water doesn't bother me."

"Weak eyes and a weak smile, but tough toes, I wonder, what's your story?"

"Sorry to disappoint you, miss, but you'll be wondering for a long time yet."

She gave out a little huff, and crossed her arms over her chest. There was a brief silence in which I was able to listen to the soft waves roll upon the shore and to the quiet breeze rustling in the trees before she started up again.

"What is in here?" she wondered. I turned around to see her reaching for my backpack, "It's awfully heavy."

"It's not for you to know," I replied, turning my back on the water in order to make sure she didn't open it.

"Do you revel in being cryptic?"

"Do you revel in being nosy?"

"I'm not nosy, I'm curious."

"And I don't have demons."

She huffed once more, and placed my bag back on the ground before gingerly walking forward. I hadn't noticed before, but she did not wear any shoes. Carefully she dipped a tiny, pale toe into the water, but jumped back with a gasp almost immediately.

"So cold," she breathed as her mind went through a thousand names to call me, _how on earth can he stand the cold?_

"Maybe you're just…" she trailed off, looking at me curiously, before shaking her head with a blank mind, "What's the word? It's short and fancy? Come on mind reader, use your gift."

I laughed a little, and shook my head, "Can't read something that's not yet in your mind."

"Bleh, you're useless…" she huffed once more, folding her arms across her chest again – thinking. As she tried to find the word she wanted to insult me with, I once again scanned the minds of the circus folk. She nearly jumped when the word popped into her head, "Neurotic! You're slightly neurotic."

Giving a half shrug as I jumped from mental voice to mental voice, I replied, "Thank you."

She laughed, "Darling, it's about as far from a complement as you're going to get from me."

Tuning out the voices from the crowd, I looked back to the tiny blonde, "Then, thank you."

She raised her eyes and shook her head, _What on Earth is he on about?_

"If that's as far from a compliment you've got to give, I'll assume it's your worst, and if that's your worst, you're very tame," I explained.

Her eyes narrowed, "I'm not tame."

"Not at all." I muttered, returning my attention to the crowd, "Just a kitten, pretending to be a lion."

"I heard that," she told me indignantly.

I laughed, "I know."

I was having no luck finding the man I was searching for in the crowd, mostly only hearing petty gossip about costumes, routines and things of the like, but there was one mind that briefly fretted over a newspaper article they read. Girls had been going missing from the circus for weeks. I wondered if the man who thought such foul thing about Chantelle could be behind the disappearances? I turned back to the unhappy girl that stood in front of me. Her pale skin was as translucent as the rest of the humans, and now she was angry her sweet smelling blood had risen to the surface as she glared at me, but thankfully, she was downwind. Her scent was resistible.

Trying anew tactic to find this man with murderous thoughts, I gave her my best apologetic smile, "It's all in good jest."

Her eyes narrowed even more, but good humour returned to her thoughts, "So you're here to be a clown now, are you?"

I gave her a small smile in reply before changing the subject, "Are the people here nice?"

She shrugged, "For the most part. Some can be quite trying, but that's people for you."

"Any one in particular?"

"Why?"

"I'm curious." Her narrowed eyes and suspicious mind told me I'd need a better reason for her to give me an answer. "I want to know whose tents I should tear down first."

A tiny smirk turned the corner of her lips upward as she shifted her weight, before letting out a little laugh and relenting, "Mr. Polking, he's in charge of the animals, is a horrid, horrid man. Not a single shred of decency, the things he does to those poor creatures, and Nora, the cook! I swear she'll spit in your food if she doesn't like you, but they have nothing on Doug, the one who juggles swords. He has no temper what-so-ever, and he thinks he's the Lord's gift to women." She scoffed in disgust, "He's foul."

"Ah," I murmured with great interest, "Perhaps he shall be it then. So, when shall I pull down his tent?" I wondered, scanning the nearby minds for any trace of a man named Doug.

She laughed, and mentally debated whether or not I was being serious before replying, "He always hides behind the food tent to smoke a cig and drink some booze when the rest of us sit by the bonfire." She shrugged, "That'd be your chance, Mr. Magic."

I merely nodded as a woman near the food tent mentally cursed this Doug man, glaring at him from across the tent. He was shabby man, with ashen brown hair and hazel eyes, looking like he hadn't bathed in years. His clothes were old but he radiated some kind of confidence. His mind was exactly that, which I had heard from miles away. Mental voices had a similar vocal sound to spoken voices – some a little higher, others a little lower, and a great deal of them were so very similar they were hard to pull apart in a crowd. It took quite a lot of hard work to grow familiar enough to a mental voice to be able to recognise it in a crowd. It could have taken me weeks or even months, to grow familiar enough with his mental voice in order to pull it from the crowd by myself. Thankfully, Chantelle was of help.

I bent down and picked up a stone to skip on the surface of the lake, while I kept tabs on this man named Doug. His thoughts were mostly shallow and foul; he was bitter over something that had happened with Chantelle, and he kept a keen eye out for her, but perhaps the shores of the lake were too far away for him to see. For a while there was silence between Chantelle and I, as she sat on the boulder and played with a rock in her hands, and I divided my time between Doug and debating whether or not Chantelle could survive the day if I was to disappear and come back at night. Every so often her mind would fill with questions she wanted to ask me, and sometimes she'd pick one to say aloud with that curious voice and those bright blue eyes.

"Where are you from?" She wondered at one point.

"Nowhere." I replied quietly, after deciding for her safety I should stick around, even though the idea of withstanding her constant inquiry irked me. "I'm a nomad."

"Everyone is from somewhere," she argued.

I shrugged, reaching for another stone, "Maybe I forgot."

"How do you forget where you are from?" She wondered as the stone jumped on the surface of the lake.

"You decide not to remember."

"So," she replied slowly, "you're lost?"

I sighed, "I know exactly where I am."

"But you don't know exactly who you are?"

I turned around to face her and shook my head, "Yes. I do."

She cocked her head to the side, "Who are you?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" I smirked.

"Yes." She nodded, "I would."

I sighed, "Such a shame to want something you can never have."

"It's never a shame to hope, Mr. Nomad." She narrowed her eyes.

"It's always a shame to hope in vain."

"My hope is simply hope," she argued, "it is not in vain."

I fought the urge to grind my teeth and growl, "Trust me, Chantelle – your hope is in vain."

"Well, at least it's still hope." She said indignantly, "You don't even have that."

I shrugged, "No one has ever given me a good enough reason to have it."

"Then I am very sorry for you," she frowned, watching as she turned a stone over in her slender fingers.

My brow pulled together, "Why?"

She looked back up at me with those wide eyes, "The fact you have to wonder why, is exactly the reason."

I gritted my teeth and turned away, swiping another stone from the banks before skipping it on the lake. Chantelle sat in silence for a great portion of the day, while I threw rocks and tried to ignore her, but her internal voice was so loud and curious, if I had any blood in my veins it would have boiled.

"Don't you have anywhere to be?" I snapped at one point, glancing over my shoulder at her.

"Today is our day off," she shrugged simply.

"What do people usually do on their day off?"

"Some people go to town," she murmured, before giving me a cheeky grin, "I generally choose to interrogate newcomers."

I could tell from her mind that she wanted me to ask her why, but I just rolled my eyes.

"Where are you from?"

"Wisconsin." She nodded once, "Milwaukee. Grew up on the banks of the other side of this river."

My reply was a noncommittal noise as I picked up another stone to skip. The cloud cover remained thick for the rest of the afternoon, although by the time that twilight had set in, the clouds had begun to wane, and it looked as though the night would be a clear one.

"Shall I go ask Mable if it's going to rain, or is the lack of storm clouds signal enough?" I wondered to Chantelle as I finally removed myself from the water. She'd long since stopped wondering how my feet were still alive.

She looked to the evening sky and smiled, breathing out a sigh, "I do love seeing the stars. I hope we get a good view tonight. When I was little my father used to tell me all about them, but it's only me who looks to them now." She sighed wistfully before looking back at me and wondering, "Do you know much about the stars?"

I shrugged, "I knew a man who did. He used to tell stories to his wife and I. I remember a few."

"Are they the people you're running from?" She asked as I reached her boulder, "Are they your demons?"

I sighed in exasperation, and ran my hand through my hair. "I am not running from anyone, and I do not have demons."

"No," her reply was thoughtful, "you love them. Definitely not your demons."

I rolled my eyes and put my socks on my wet feet, and she crinkled her nose at the action, before I covered the socks with my shoes.

"How do you wear wet socks with shoes?"

"With great skill, and no care." I shrugged, picking up my backpack and slinging it over my shoulder, "Now, are you going to show me what tent I'm pulling down?"

Her heart skipped a beat, "Are you actually serious?"

"No." I smirked, "But I want to see this bonfire."

She cocked her head to the side as her eyes narrowed, "Are you a pyromaniac?"

"No," I shook my head, starting toward the tents as she slipped off the boulder, "fires are dangerous though, and I do like to live on the edge of danger."

"You're dangerous," she remarked quietly as we headed away from the river.

"Perceptive. So, why have you spent the whole day with me?"

She shrugged, "Because I like to live on the edge of danger."

"You shouldn't," I told her, "it's not safe."

"But you do."

"I live in a world with different rules."

"No you don't." She argued as we reached the fringes of the settlement, "You just think you're entitled to break different rules."

I shrugged, "So maybe I do."

"And who are you to decide what everyone else is, and isn't allowed to do?"

"Nobody."

She glared once again, and let out a huff, before pushing forward, away from me. I followed her quickly, having lost Doug's mind sometime throughout the day – I needed to make sure she was safe.

She plonked down on the grass by the carriage I first found her in, and leaned up against it. It was some way from the spot where three men where trying to light a large fire, and I was thankful she didn't want to sit too close to the other humans and the heat. Humans were easier to resist when they were cold, their bodies withdrew the blood from their extremities in an effort to ensure their core kept warm. Less blood by the surface meant a reduction in potency of the scent of their blood. This was a very good thing.

She was angered by my reply, so all the while that the men spent in attempt to light the fire we sat in silence. I listened out for the man named Doug, who, after about half an hour, just before the first flames actually took to the pile of wood, I found stalking around the far tents and carriages, looking for Chantelle.

As the fire grew larger, and Doug grew more impatient to find the little blonde, I watched the watery human eyes become absorbed into the flames, fixated on the ways that the vibrant orange lights danced in the gentle wind.

"I'm not flexible," she stated out of the blue, some time later, her eyes transfixed by the skies above, not the flames in front like the others, "Well, I mean I am, but that's not my job here. I read people. I say I read their palms, but really, I read _them_. Their expressions, their body language, their tone… everything."

"I know."

She turned to me, her blue eyes still alight despite the dark of the night, and her thin skin was covered in shades of orange from the glow of the fire, "Cause you read minds."

"No," I shook my head, "You just seem that sort of person."

"Like you."

My reply came out darker than I intended, "You're nothing like me."

She narrowed her eyes, "Because of the demons?"

I didn't reply, I just looked away, but that seemed answer enough for her, as she thought, _he didn't deny._

With a satisfied smile she turned back to the sky, and began mapping out the stars in her head. Once again, I wondered how someone like her ended up in a place like this. I would have thought she'd be the kind of girl who would be in college, who'd be taking classes in a male dominated field just because the world said she shouldn't. I picked her as the kind of girl who would get it stuck in her head that she needed to prove them all wrong, so she'd study every waking hour of the day, place first in her class and cause an outrage. I certainly didn't pick her to read palms in a travelling circus. She smiled slightly up at the stars as she found her favourite constellations, and the flames turned her blonde hair slightly red. I watched her as the time passed, half paying attention to her thoughts and expressions, half plotting how I would escape her company long enough to find Doug and then disappear.

"You love the stars so much that you wear one around your neck," I murmured, "How did a girl like you end up here?"

"This necklace, it reminds me that no matter what I have done in the past, no matter who I thought I could be and didn't turn out to be, there's always hope for a better future, and the only person who can choose that future, is me."

"How do you get that from a star?"

"My father was an astronomer. He was killed in Florida a while back, I was orphaned, put in a home, ran away, and joined the circus. But he was an orphan too, and he turned out to be a great academic and incredible person." She shrugged, "The stars just give me hope."

As it neared midnight and the humans refused to let the fire die, Doug settled behind the food tent with his cigarettes and alcohol, as Chantelle grabbed a blanket from inside her carriage, before settling back down against it, with hooded lids and tired eyes.

She was, in a way… beautiful.

"Thank you for spending the day with me," she breathed, almost consumed by exhaustion.

"I didn't really have a choice," I replied, allowing a small smile to form on my lips.

She shook her head gently, and whispered, "You always have a choice, John Doe."

Her eyes slowly closed, only to be opened again seconds later, "And you know, you're not a nomad," she murmured, on the edge of sleep, "You carry that backpack around like it contains your life, and it does… it contains every tie you clutch to the life you left behind. As long as you hold on, you cannot let go."

"Sleep." I told her quietly, "You'll feel better for it in the morning."

"Uh ha." She breathed, "G'night, Mr Magic."

I pulled the blanket up higher and let it fall on her shoulders as I murmured, "Goodnight, Chantelle."

I waited for a very short while until her breathing was deep and her heartbeat was steady, before carefully standing, and quietly backing away. I ducked behind the carriage and made my way into the woods, before circling around to the bushes near where Doug was still smoking and drinking. Deciding that tempting his curiosity would be the best way to lure him far enough away from the campground so the people would be safe from me, I rustled the bushes and began to make noise. Almost immediately his head jerked up and his mind was alert with caution.

"Whosere?" he wondered in a slurred voice, "I say whosere?"

I rustled the bushes a little more, and he sprang to his feet, six foot of drunken anger, and reeking of smoke, the brown haired man marched to the bushes, and I pounced. I covered his mouth as he began to squirm and protest. Running at top speed to a place where the human scents would be down-wind, but not so far away that when the body would be found, people would wonder how he got there, I threw him on the forest floor and darted into the shadows.

"What the?" He wondered, as he wriggled on the floor, trying to find his footing, "Whosere?"

"Me." I replied quietly from the darkness where he couldn't see me, "Hello, Doug."

"Where are ya? Who are ya? Whaddoya want with me?" He scrambled around, his heart beating so fast.

"I wanted to ask you about those girls who went missing, and then about Chantelle?"

Those simple words were enough to trigger his mind into giving me the answers I needed – to knowing the truth.

"Then again, I don't really need you to answer me aloud, because I already know. Don't I?"

"Who are ya? Where are ya? What are ya gonna do to me?" He wined in fear, tears welling in his hazel eyes, as he scampered feebly backward, away from me.

I darted around in the bushes silently, until I was behind him, and then crept forward. His body could sense me, but his mid could not. And goosebumps covered his exposed skin as I whispered in his ear, "Boo."

He didn't even have time to scream.

I was almost surprised at how simple this one turned out. There was no deception or last minute realisation that I was onto the wrong person, and I was able to get him _before_ committed the next crime, it was almost refreshing how –

A gasp from behind me broke my train of thought, and the man's body fell from my grasp as a horror-filled voice spoke from behind me.

"What are you doing to him?"

 _Chantelle._

I didn't get a single moment of rational thought until it was too late, and her blood was that, which I tasted on my lips. It was only when my thirst was fully stated and my mind was cleared of that thirst-induced fog that I realised what I'd done.

I looked down to the blue eyes of the girl who lay in my arms, no longer bright and curious, but now just empty and… dead. Her mouth was parted slightly, and her body had already begun to cool from the lack of blood in her veins.

"No," I breathed, "No."

.~*~.

It took a while for me to decide what to do with the bodies. Doug, no doubt, would be found some time later, with a knife and a note in his hand, confessing his guilt and claiming he could no longer live with the burden he'd placed on his own shoulders. Animals would find him before humans no doubt. As for Chantelle, I stood on the banks of Lake Michigan while her tiny little body floated away. All she had was the lake… The lake and the stars. The waters, not blood, were what would run through her veins.

As unfortunate as it was, it had to happen. Sometimes people just get in the way, but I saved lives by taking theirs, all those people Doug would have harmed, they live because Chantelle didn't. That was what I told myself at least.

As I turned my back on the banks of lake both the blonde and I knew so well, I slipped her necklace into my pocket as a reminder of the lessons she taught me. Then, I ducked back to the camp, where the bonfire still raged on but no one sat around it.

Chantelle was right about the bag I carried around – every connection that tied me to my previous life was sitting in it. If I really wanted to commit to this life, I would have to leave my old one behind – cut all ties. So, everything that belonged to the boy who didn't believe in collateral damage burned in the bonfire as I walked away.

* * *

 _A.N. Hello again, I'm back (_ _ish). I know it has been an unforgivably long time since I updated this but I've been so busy lately, and writing these chapters takes a surprisingly long time. I had a free afternoon this afternoon, so I got this one edited and I penned a lot of the next one. It's taken me a bit to slip back into this writing style (scientific writing is_ **so different** _) so I'm sorry if it's not quite as good as all the others. I think it'll take me a while to really get back into the headspace, but I'm going to keep trying, so I can finish Finding Home (I hate fan fictions that are only half-way done). So thank you all for sticking with me - and sticking with this._

 _Anyway! I know quite a lot of you, my dear readers, are writers yourselves, do you ever get a character that just pops in your head fully formed and ready to go? Someone you don't have to work at or think about or plan? This chapter was formed around Chantelle, who was one of those characters for me. It was so fun to write someone like her who just challenged Edward at every chance she got, and who completely (and tragically unintentionally) changed Edward's view on things. Chantelle, however, was not the originally inspiration for this chapter, the idea formed a while back when I first listened to_ **Adele** 's _album_ **25** , _in particular the song_ **River Lea**. _That chorus is definitely what was playing in my mind as Edward left the last shreds of his life behind in the fire… or so we think he did ;)_

 _Thank you once again for your reviews last chapter – keep them coming! I do love hearing from you all._

 _I'm not sure if I mentioned it, but the plan for the story currently ends at 25 chapters + an epilogue. So… WE'RE OVER HALFWAY! Whoooooo!_

 _Next chapter teaser: What are your thoughts on terracotta pots?_


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